Angel Halo, Edited
by Spiritblade
Summary: The edited chapters of my Angel Halo: Time of Judgment story.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**The Order of St. Michael**

**The Forgotten fortress and the imprisoned Sword**

**Ashes to ashes, dust to dust**

_The first to be sacrificed are the great and the good. Such is the bitter lot of heroes, whose deeds may be vilified for an age before they are exalted. But in return, for all they have endured for humanity, they are made immortal. One can only wish that such a thing was true._

_The personal diary of Cardinal Wesley Garett, 1993 A.D._

_**Israel, Golan Heights, National Geographic Expedition Site, 25**__**th**__** December 1967**_

There it is. There, miles beneath the surface in a place regarded as sacred to those I had once served under, is the resting place of a legendary relic that had seen the passing of the ages. Standing in the calm heart of a blazing inferno close to the molten heart of the planet was a black-and-gold cross that gleamed with the light of the sea of fire that surrounded it. It stood impaled on an altar, held in the hands of a statue carved in the likeness of a being I had seen only once before whose beauty and terrible power dwarfed even the magnificence of the morning star itself. So fierce was the anima of the statue that I had expected the statue to speak, to welcome me. I almost expected those perfect stone lips to move, for the folded wings to unfurl, for the serpentine tail and long mane of hair to sway sinuously in the hot wind.

'_Welcome, my Bloody Angel,' _a soft voice spoke amidst the thunderous sound of the mountain's heartbeat. I looked around, trying to find the source of the disembodied voice, before chuckling. The blood loss was getting to me; I was starting to see and hear things. I shook my head to clear my blurring vision before turning my gaze back to the gleaming cross held in the statue's hands.

Even from where I stood, I recognized it. That cross was the legendary sword wielded by Lucifer himself during his uprising in a bygone age. A relic older than time and imbued with power that is said to dwarf that of the lost Lance of Longinus, the latter of which was said to be the reason of Nazi Germany's rise to power during the Second World War. The sacrifices made to reclaim the Sacred Lance had been horrendous. And now, over two decades later, in the aftermath of the Six Day War that pit the might of six Arab nations against the fledgling state of Israel, the same sacrifices were being made to deny those who would wish to use this most unholy of relics for their own ends. That relic had many names, and over the centuries, its power had been used for both good and evil by men and women who themselves became legend. Unlike the Sacred Lance, however, the sword of the Morningstar was broken, shattered at the end of the Morningstar's rebellion. The broken shards of the Morningstar's sword flew far and wide across the world, falling from the sky like meteors, each imbued with the same power that could split the sky and sunder the Earth. Each of these shards, as written in the _Liber Pandemonium_, became the weapons wielded by heroes and gods of legend. In that same book, I saw it as the staff in the hands of the Beast-master Dar; I had seen it as the rune-engraved spear of the man who eventually became the Norse God Odin, and who passed it along to the woman who became Athena; I saw it as the hammer Mjolnir, weapon of the Thunder God Thor; I saw such a shard become the legendary coral sword that the old legends of Japan said forged the land. And I saw such a shard that became Excalibur, wielded first by Julius Caesar of Rome, and then by the young girl who became King Arthur. I closed my eyes, remembering that young heroine's passing, remembered the angry scream of one of the Archdukes as he was denied his prize.

The unbroken half of the sword now laid here, sealed by the Morningstar's own power – and God's, from what I've heard – so as to prevent the enemies of both from claiming it. Chains lashed out from the far walls, binding the sword in an embrace that only God Himself could break. Here, it had hidden, lost to the memory of the ages. Until an Israeli Army Recon team had found the massive entrance hidden behind an abandoned monastery. That had led to a chain of events that saw to Professor James Dover, a renowned archaeologist, break open the centuries-old sigil the monks had put into place to contain the evil that lain slumbering within the unholy fortress. Within days, Arab shock at the surprise defeat of their armies soon became anger. It wasn't long before those Arabs who had come under Israeli occupation took up arms. It was during this period, lasting several weeks, that the fighting was at its most brutal and would sow the seeds of conflict for years to come.

I am not surprised by the intensity of the conflict. Hate is an easy emotion to engender in the hearts of men. All one has to do is push the right buttons, a nudge here and there, and the consequences can be terrible to behold. It can turn meek men into monstrous murderers, and turn heroes into black-hearted madmen. It can make just any atrocity and betrayal. It can – and often does – blind any man or woman to the concept of mercy or compassion. And I have seen it happen so many times that I find it hard to believe that anyone would turn the other cheek when he or she is wronged. It takes a strong heart to forgive; I, like much of humanity, am not that strong. And I most certainly am not going to let the one who wronged me off. Not after all that has happened. A part of me applauded the manner in which that bastard had planned all of it. It had been, for lack of a better word, perfect. Within two months of the Order of St. Michael was all but extinct. Of the 15 that had stepped foot into the Holy Land, only 5 remained. I am among them but, unlike them, I am not a Paladin. Not even an honorary one. I am – and I always will be – a champion of the Unholy Host. My name is one whispered in many worlds outside of this one as a huntsman of souls and a destroyer. I have committed atrocities and deeds which would rival that of any madman past and present. As such, I should have been the first to die. The Tyrant has a lightning bolt with my name on it but his aim, as always, was horrible. It always has been. It was always those that deserved to live that die first, while those that deserve to roast in Hell endure.

But, the Order of St. Michael did not simply bow their heads and wait for their end. The decision to ride the tempest to its very eye was made when the Order of St. Michael's commander, Wesley, revealed to us the reasons why his group had been sent in to claim the Sword. The fact that they had been the very best the Inquisition could offer was immaterial. The entire group had been ear-marked by the current Inquisitor-General for elimination. At first, I thought that my presence had been the reason, but I was only half-right. Wesley had, as we made our way through the Golan Heights, explained that our previous missions had uncovered some very damning evidence that their enemies had managed, over the course of decades, infiltrated the Church and subverted the loyalties of several key members within the Inquisition.

Some of those members were servants of my mistress's rivals in the other Legions. Eliminating me, one of the champions of the Crimson Legion and acquiring the Sword of the Morningstar would be a coup to the faceless Fallen and his masters whom I would repay in kind should I live to see the sunrise. But I had to hurry. Time was against me. It was against Wesley and the last survivors of the Order of St. Michael who, even now, are fighting the undying guardians of this underground city-fortress and the lackeys the Inquisitor-General had sent to ensure that the people he had sent on this doomed mission were truly dead and unable to condemn him for his act of treason. I turned my gaze on the smoking ruin of what had once been Aziel Helmraz. My lips curved in a contemptuous sneer. I warned him. I warned him not to take the blade, but the arrogant swine had turned a deaf ear to my entreaty. The wounds that I suffered were the rabbi's parting gift as his sanity gave way under the weight of so many awful revelations.

"_You are a servant of the Enemy, Shateiel. How and why that pup I call my leader has ever trusted you is beyond me. Your soul is black with sin and your body with the blood of innocents. You are worse than the animal that had persecuted my people during the Second World War. I will not let you take the Sword of Lucifer; Wesley's reason is, to me, unacceptable. Only a man of God, a man with true faith, can wield such a weapon of Evil and be unsullied."_

I got to my feet, my every movement a lesson in agony. Aziel's Charm had been a combination of a simple spell amplified manifold and unleashed. But such agony was nothing compared to what I had endured in the training halls of the Crimson Legion and honed on the battlefields of Hell and on worlds the people of this planet never knew existed. Nonetheless, it took me five minutes before I could even start walking.

"_I know for certain that you will take it back to your vile brethren and usher in the final conflict with the Almighty. But I will deny you your victory, demon."_

I remembered Aziel's eyes, afire with triumph and madness as his hands wrapped around the Sword's hilt. _"Bear witness to the victory long denied my people! Bear witness, thou false angel, to the end of your vile kind! With this weapon, I shall deliver my people from those who would seek to destroy us. With this, I can ensure that, forever after, sacred Israel shall belong to my people and their descendants forever after!"_

Aziel's mind had been broken to the point that he did not feel the pain as the Sword unleashed its terrible powers upon the rabbi for his temerity – among other things – for daring to touch it. Had Aziel been a servant of darkness, he would have gotten a charred hand for his troubles. But, as he was a servant of God, the Sword immolated his body in flames a thousand times hotter than the sun. I saw Aziel's skin slowly melt, his blood boiling away into crimson mist, and his flesh and bones being reduced to ashes. Even as he died, Aziel continued to laugh and mock me.

Another voice entered my mind, and whatever hatred I felt for the arrogant rabbi faded.

"_Yo, man! So, you're Shateiel, eh? I've heard some nifty things about you from Wesley. You don't mind if I find out the truth, do you?"_

I smiled, then. In my mind, the dark-haired and skinned Raphael Carleon was alive once more, his long sword held at the ready. The South African was skilled with both gun and blade, and I had seen him in action to know that his peculiar fighting techniques were effective. Raphael was thirty-five years old, with a sense of humor as big as his heart.

"_I'm not gonna sit here and tell you the same shit you're already sick of hearing. I'm gonna tell you that you're an okay man. Hell, you're better than some men I know – and that's saying a lot. So what if you're the bootlicker of some hot bitch in Hell? Your heart is in the right place, and that's all that should matter." _

Raphael was an easy-going fellow and wasn't the type to hold grudges against anyone. It took a **LOT** to make him angry and, the moment some stupid bastard managed to succeed, I knew that the bar or club where the brawl erupted would be in shambles for weeks afterwards. Raphael was more than capable of taking on half-a-dozen brawlers in a straight fight. And I had seen it happen.

"_Oh, bloody -! Shateiel, you mind…oh, got started already eh? Come on, maggot – show me what you're made of!"_

Raphael was the closest friend and rival of Ezekiel Rage. It was common sense and knowledge within the ranks of the Inquisition to not get in the way of Ezekiel and Raphael during the Inquisition's annual Crossed Swords Tournament. The two would be pounding each other silly with Charm and weapon without caring who would get caught in the crossfire. And when it was over, they would regress to being children, laughing at the mess they made (which often involves dozens of competitors – friend and foe – suffering from concussions; the Tournament Masters ensured that the entire event was non-lethal despite the use of very lethal weapons). I always believed that the two were rivals for the sheer hell of it than anything else. It gave back to them the years they could no longer live.

"_Ezekiel, don't do this…"_

I took another step. Those had been Raphael's last words, imploring his friend not to kill a Jewish girl the latter believed was still possessed despite the fact that the demon had already been banished back to Hell. That duel had ended with Ezekiel crushing his friend's skull and Raphael putting twenty out of thirty-two inches of blessed steel straight through his friend's heart.

"_So, you're the…new man that Wesley told us about. Welcome. My name is Ezekiel Rage. I'll be your instructor in all things starting from today. And trust me, boy: you're not going to have an easy life while I'm on duty."_

Ezekiel Rage was a golden-haired albino. Built like a quarterback and standing at over seven feet, Ezekiel was easily one of the biggest and strongest men to wear the colors of the Inquisition. His strength and stamina, unenhanced by Charm or Discipline, easily matched mine – and that was saying a lot. Reinforced by either or both, I held no illusions in my mind that the ensuing fight would be long and bloody, with my decades of fighting experience being the only advantage I had against this titan. Had Ezekiel gone into professional boxing, there was no doubt in my mind that for the next half-decade he reigned as champion, no one would be able to take the title from him. Nobody dared to cross Ezekiel, period, unless one had a death wish written down somewhere. If his stern demeanor and crimson eyes did not put off troublemakers, the next ten minutes would be enlightening for the latter. Fortunately, like his friend, Ezekiel was a patient man. The only chink Ezekiel had in his armor was the rivalry he had with Raphael. If Ezekiel had a flaw, it was that he disliked losing, **especially** to Raphael. Combine that rivalry, Ezekiel's dislike of losing, the unholy miasma that covered the entire region and one had a ticking time bomb waiting to blow.

I took another step.

"_Knowledge is like power, Shateiel. It is something that is neither good nor evil. It is how you use it that decides whether it is one or the other,"_ came the voice of one Michael Adel, one of the three sorcerer-scholars within the Order of St. Michael. With his brown hair, purple eyes, spectacles and lanky build, Michael had the look of one whose entire life was spent around books. But Michael was not the average nerd – this one, unlike the rest, was more than capable of taking care of himself. Proficient in four different types of martial arts and the use of every firearm ever created, he would put a good number of SAS commandos to shame.

"_Knowing God is perhaps the highest praise I know."_

But no one can know the Will of God, Michael. Not even His most loyal servants. But, even so, Michael was knowledgeable about anything and everything that went on in the Vatican – including some things that would have ruined the reputations of several key Vatican officials. He had access to places that even Wesley had difficulty getting to. But, what surprised me was that Michael had once, during his days as a novitiate, had had a fling with a female werewolf.

"_There are some things that the world is better off not knowing."_

It was Michael's death that made the Wesley and his companions realize that they were dealing with an enemy that was both potent and who knew their every strength and weakness – and who, they found later on, wore the same robes as they did. Albeit that the color of his robes were crimson and gold, the symbol of one of the highest-ranking officials within the Inquisition itself. For all his strength and skill, Michael could not defeat the assassins that had been sent to silence both him and his companions. Were-beasts, vampires, the Fallen and their servants: these he could deal with. But what Michael fought against was one of my kin: an Abyssal Exalt. And that Exalt had not come alone. It was during that time that the lackeys of the traitor Inquisitor-General made themselves known, revealing just how deep the corruption in the Church had gone. The confrontation had caused one entire section of the centuries-old catacombs to collapse, burying Michael and his adversaries under tons of rock. Those catacombs would be Michael's gravestone, his name remembered only by those who knew him.

"_You cannot tell whether a person is good or bad by his vicissitudes in life. Good and bad fortune are simply matters of fate. Good and bad actions are Man's Way. Retribution of those actions is simply taught as moral lessons."_

The aged, smiling face of Hayami Kuro appeared in my mind. Hayami was the oldest member in the Order of St. Michael and was a veteran of the Second World War. He was, by unspoken agreement amongst its members, the Order's second-in-command. Fond of literature and philosophy, he had purchased a plot of land in the country where he and three other St. Michael Paladins (including myself) lived, worked and trained. I had always found Asian philosophy more to my taste. It focused chiefly on personal discipline, moral rectitude and philosophical introspection than penance, submission and evangelism that were the chief attributes of God's lackeys. Hayami combined the ways of the samurai and the teachings of the Church into one harmonious whole. Those who had been his students often ended up emulating their teacher's mindset and habits (including his one chief vice of drinking sake and smoking the pipe).

"_Make your decisions in the space of seven breaths, Shateiel. Keep your mind focused and decide swiftly. In battle, as you already know, you may have but one – or none at all. Also, there are some battles that need not be won with the sword, but with wit and guile."_

Hayami was responsible for molding the man Wesley is now. The sole survivor of our predecessors in the Second World War, Hayami was spared their doomed fate as they spirited the Spear of Destiny away from Nazi Germany when he returned to Japan to help defend it from America. He was one of the survivors at the battle of Iwo Jima, where the Japanese Army had held the island from invading American forces for over two months. Hayami was – is – the embodiment of human spirit and determination. He reminded me of everything I wanted to be.

"_I will die eventually, Reiha-kun. That has been written in the stars and whispered in the wind. I have lived long enough – too long, I might add. I can but choose the manner of my passing. I will not dishonor the memory of my friends whom I left behind all those years ago, or the choice I made to return to my homeland and defend it. But tell me, Bloody Angel…if it was your turn to die, how would you meet your end?"_

Like you, Hayami. With my head held high and with dignity; I have done many wrongs, and I see now that to avert my gaze as my sins are read out to me is to say that I have done them without considering the consequences.

"_Reiha – in my language, it is a combination of the word 'rein', which in English means spirit, and 'ha' which means blade. That is your family name, correct?"_

You, Hayami Kuro, gave me a human name, not one bequeathed when I became a champion of a rebel angel princess when she took my hand and elevated me from my humble, mortal roots. I cannot remember the world I came from, save that it was far from the one I am fighting to save. Of all of the Paladins of the Order of St. Michael, only Hayami had died a natural death. Old age, exhaustion and heartache had finally caught with him. We found his body on the rooftop of the rented house in the newer section of Jerusalem that we made our base of operations. He had passed on under the stars he so loved to watch, his body wrapped by a warm cloak and a quiet smile on his face. Several bottles of sake laid spread out before him on the mat.

I took another heavy step forward. I dared not lose my balance now. I know that, if I did, I would not have the strength to get back up again. But, it is not easy, considering the amount of blood I've lost swatting the enemies to get here and Aziel's damn Charm.

"_An Abyssal Exalt? Here?! Captain, are you out of your mind?!"_

The stern, admonishing voice of Victoria Northfield entered my mind with the force of a thrown lance. With hair the color of unconquered snow and blue eyes, the tempestuous and beautiful Valkyrie of the Order was not a woman to be taken lightly. Even amongst the other Paladins and Inquisitors, there was debate as to who was really the real captain of the Order of St. Michael. Victoria carried herself with the confident hauteur that was rarely ever present in Wesley. The Northfield family had Viking and Celtic blood in its veins. For generations, the family had served the Inquisition faithfully despite the fact that there are a good number of Inquisitors who would love nothing more than to excommunicate the family for its pagan practices. But, there was no doubt that some of the Charms utilized by the family were undeniably potent.

"_While I agree with Aziel that having someone like you amidst to the armies of God is an invitation to betrayal, I cannot deny the fact that if you were to return to God's grace, you would be a potent addition to our ranks. But, before I even say yes, I hope you do not mind indulging me. I've heard stories about how powerful you Exalts were. Show me just how powerful – and don't insult me by holding back."_

As if she ever did. Victoria never did anything by half-measures. Her determination to win; her refusal to back down in the face of overwhelming odds; her pride and strength – she shone as bright as any of Michael's angels. Telling Victoria that it was a lost cause was a surefire way of bringing her mile-wide stubborn streak to the fore. Victoria's most cherished dream was to attain the captaincy of the Order of St. Michael. Her disappointment, when she discovered that Wesley had been chosen over her, had been a bitter pill for the proud woman to swallow.

"_Will you turn command over to me, Wesley? I have more experience in dealing with situations like this than you ever will in your lifetime."_

Victoria's chief flaw was her pride. It was that one weakness that had led to her downfall. The corruption that had escaped this cursed place and twisted the hearts and souls of every man, woman and child for hundreds of kilometers in every direction blackened Victoria's as well. Why had she been passed over for captaincy of the Order over a child whose breath still smelt of his mother's milk? Why? What was it about Wesley that made him a more suitable candidate over a veteran who had spent over a decade since her twentieth birthday fighting the Archenemy? Victoria's years of faithful service to the Tyrant God ended in an act of betrayal that – at that point in time – seemed like the right thing to do. Wesley had no choice but to kill a friend that he could no longer recognize.

"_I have dreams like everyone else, you know. What about you, Sinner? What are your dreams like?"_

Dark, Victoria, as blood and endless shadows can be. I want nothing more than vengeance against the Tyrant God and His servants. I want to repay for centuries of persecution in the name of false justice and sanctified murder. I want to hang God's saints and prophets from the ramparts of Heaven, their rent bodies staining it black and crimson as my wings. I want to hang generations of murderers, rapists and genocidal madmen who have killed and murdered in the name of God from the very archways lining to the Tyrant's Imperial Palace. I want His Reign to end.

Because I want Creation to be free and strong; free of God's tyranny and free of the Morningstar's mad ambition. But, my dreams are just that – dreams. To think I can defeat God or His Adversary is ridiculous; I am nowhere close to the Archdukes of the Legions in power, guile and influence. No, this game will go on long, long after I am removed from the board. But one day, I hope to see a world where lovers laugh and children run.

"_Ni hao, Sha Ziya__.__ My name is Chen Huishen. I shall be your team-mate here on out."_

Hayami had given me my Japanese name. Huishen gave me by Chinese one. She and two others were assigned to be my team-mates (and watchdogs, to ensure that I did not turn traitor and stab them in the back). Huishen came from a family of renowned exorcists who had close ties with the Inquisition. Huishen's proficiency in the use of Charms was phenomenal, easily the equal of an Exalt of the Five Unholy Dragons. She would have made a fine lieutenant in my army, and a wonderful caretaker to my children who have refused to swear fealty to the Morningstar.

"_My position within the Order of St. Michael is an honorary one, Sha Ziya. Victoria and I have the same problems with the puritans in the Vatican; to them, we are one step from being heretics ourselves. But, that does not matter to me. My family and I swore to fight Evil – and so we shall."_

And of course, that was impossible. I do not turn those who will not turn. And to turn a soul as pure as Huishen would be cruel; I have not fallen that far. The world needs more people like her to make people like me irrelevant. I smiled. Huishen is a cute girl – make no mistake about that – but young. With her large sapphire eyes and black hair, perky nature and carefree personality, she was the Inquisition's poster girl for convention breaking. She could drink and sing better than a church choir. But, when it came down to a fight, she was perhaps the most clear-headed of the entire order, formulating plans almost five to six steps ahead in a heartbeat. Her skill in the use of gun and staff was formidable, befitting her place in the Order of St. Michael.

"_Why do the servants of God do such things to themselves?"_

If Huishen had one weakness, it was her gentle heart. For all the fact that she was good in a fight, she hated having to kill. The fact that she was able to suppress that reluctance when battle came bespoke of her stern discipline. But, whenever innocents came into the picture, that impenetrable wall would crack. She died trying to protect a large group of school-children from a group of extremists. And she was willing to break Masquerade to do it.

"_Tell me truthfully, Bloody Angel. Are there things you regret?"_

I have plenty of them, Huishen. More than a man can hold in one lifetime. And the fact that I had not been there to help you added one more to the pile. I thought that it would not matter, that the death of another of God's champions would be one less I would have to kill later on. But, it did. It did. I started to care. I started to remember **WHY** I chose to accept the bargain I made so long ago.

I strode closer to the chained sword, and took an involuntary backward step as the ground beneath me shook. My head whipped upwards, and my lips pulled into a sardonic grin. Our enemies were **seriously** regretting having pushed us into the corner. I could tell. Wesley and the others were no longer pulling their punches. They were, to utilize a commonly used phrase, throwing everything but the kitchen sink. Though, in this case, that would be quite the understatement.

"_I cannot believe I'm going to be led by some guy worse than the creeps the cops throw into the slammer, boss!"_

The annoying voice of Randall Masters, the gun specialist of the Order and a long-time veteran of the Inquisition, echoed in my head. Strange how one's memories are so crystal clear and vivid when one's end was about to come; I'm starting to understand why those I have killed on the battlefield sometimes died smiling or, at the very least, died peacefully. No matter how my companions in the Order of St. Michael have perished, I remembered them as they were before. They may have failed. They may have been weak. They have been blind. But, then, so am I. I am all these things and more.

"_I see it but I don't believe it. Tsubaki has the hots for you? What did you do to her?"_

Randall has always been the roguish sort. If anyone stood up like a sore thumb in the Inquisition, it was Randall. Even I could not believe that he had been one of the Order of St. Michael when we first met. Just when I thought I saw everything, Randall would go ahead and prove me wrong. How in the holy name of God and the Morningstar did this man remain within the ranks of the former and not get shot is beyond me! He once managed to sneak prostitutes into his own room for a night of fun once, and the following morning saw to him cleaning every last latrine in the Vatican with a toothbrush – after Wesley was through pummeling him within an inch of his life.

"_Man, Shateiel, you're smooth. You could bed that girl if you wanted to, you know? Make her a real woman. One day, she'll look back and remember her first love – you – and how you shaped her life afterwards."_

Randall had always liked Tsubaki, a Japanese shrine maiden who was also part of the Order of St. Michael. The latter, however, clearly disliked him and kept their interactions strictly professional. Or maybe, it was something else. Tsubaki's intuition was sharper than Huishen's where sensing evil and corruption was concerned. I remembered the miko's silver eyes, filled with amusement, when she described the corruption that radiated from my soul reminiscent of molten steel and rain on roses. It was a kind smell, she said, befitting one who loved Creation enough to accept damnation for its sake. I had laughed, then. It was akin to saying that shit smelled like perfume. Tsubaki had further pointed out that the time I had spent as a champion of the Unholy Host had allowed me to develop a high resistance to the corruption that permeated that dark kingdom created after the Fall eons ago. But, Randall does not have the strength of will to resist the temptations I have already known and tasted, and I cannot help but agree with Tsubaki's assessment.

But, I cannot help but wish that Tsubaki had been wrong about Randall.

And I wished that she did not look at me that way. It reminded me of my past, of why I became an Abyssal Exalt. Centuries cannot wipe away the clarity of an epiphany or the pain of betrayal. My hands tightened around my katana, as words spoken from treacherous lips – lips belonging to the women I loved – echoed in my soul, bringing back the memory of resignation and despair.

I shook my head. No. Now is not the time to reminiscence about people long dead. I can do that when I have claimed the sword and my allies have vanquished the curs that covet it. I walk towards the Sword, remembering how Randall had died. Envy and lust had always been Randall's greatest weakness. In the newborn nation of Israel, where the air itself held an evil taint released from millennia of imprisonment, it had slowly twisted Randall till he was everything he hated. His fall from grace had not been instantaneous, but it had begun long ago. I had learnt that the cancerous seed of damnation can be planted long before it can bear fruit. The hunger to possess Tsubaki reached a fever pitch and when he tried to brutally rape her, I killed him before Tsubaki could stop me. I heard my former mistress's soft laughter at the back of my mind that time, mocking me, as I stood over the bloody ruins of what had once been my friend.

"_This mission may well be our last, Shateiel. I am glad, when all is said and, to have known and fought beside you."_

The ground shook violently as another explosion rocked the massive underground city-fortress. For the love of Hell's seven thrones, Wesley, do try to remember we're underground! Any more of this, and we'll have the biggest fucking tombstone in all Creation next to Satan's when God finishes the job of killing him!

"_Ah, Shateiel…! Good to see you! You're in time for dinner! I've managed to save an extra-large portion for you. Ah-ah, not a word out of you, my boy; you work hard and long – the least that can be offered is good food and second helpings."_

The cheery voice of Richard Sanders entered my mind. He was a big man but, unlike Ezekiel, Richard was fat. He acted as the caretaker of one of the largest orphanages in Rome. Every time I saw Richard, he was always accompanied by a battalion of kids. They would listen, spellbound, to his stories. And when Richard made me tell stories, they began begging for mine. I told those children lies, well-crafted lies that were as close to the truth as I could give them. I did not want to ruin Richard's hard work; I did not want to add to the pain of some of them who knew how ugly and cruel the world really was. Richard was intuitive; he saw a point to my stories, and used them with an effect that was better than the lash.

"_And then, he charged forward, his sword on fire as he crossed swords with the champions of the Seven Princesses. He had long ago known that this was his fate. Seven Princesses and Eight Knights; seven of both who held kingdoms and power, but the last of the latter had only to his name lost glory and sad memories. Long have these chosen 15 fought and suffered for their dream, but among them, only one would pay to full price of it all. _

"_14 blades struck the false traitor deep, and he fell, laughing at the irony of it all. He had nothing; the legacy of his House was a memory even to those they had once served and protected. He was the last of his family, and it was one whose name was already sullied by their enemies. But, even then, he wanted to fulfill that oath. He would defend the Seven Princesses. It would cost him everything and gain him nothing. But, when he closed his eyes and drew his last breath, he was glad. He saw the stars and the moon; those he loved and had died loving him would be waiting for him at the promised place. It was as good a reward as any, if not better. He had not failed them."_

"_What was the Fallen Prince looking for, Father Sanders?"_

Richard had looked at me then, before answering the children.

"_Peace. And, like any prince, someone – or something – to love."_

I remembered how some of those children – those who were quick on the uptake or those who managed to put two and two together – turn to glance at me knowingly. I had ensured that my face had the expression of interest in Richard's story, but I was fuming inside as I contemplated ways of making the fat priest pay. But, now, when I think of them, I did not have the courage to tell those children that he man they loved and looked up to as a parent would no longer be there to tell them stories, comfort them or tuck them in. I cannot take Richard's place in their hearts.

"_Each child is special, Bloody Angel. Each of them can change the world in a way we cannot."_

I dare not tell those orphans how Richard died. The Order of St. Michael had been investigating an old museum in the southern city of Gaza, where one of Wesley's contacts had suspected that the late proprietor had kept hidden pages from the fabled Book of Judgment that the Vatican's inner circle kept under lock and key. A priority order came down from the top, indicating that Wesley's contact had also informed his superiors, and that they wanted it retrieved. The museum was enormous, and the team had to split up in order to cover more ground. Richard had chosen to search one of the exhibitions on the upper levels. When he didn't return at the appointed time, we went to look for him…and found what was left of him.

His body looked like as though someone – or some_thing_ – had been using it for a chew toy. Upon closer inspection, the Paladins of St. Michael realized – to their horror – that their compatriot had been the one responsible. It was at the scene of his masticated corpse that Tsubaki found the manuscripts that we had been searching for. They had been hidden behind the portrait of the Last Supper. And on one of those manuscripts was a scene similar to the one we now stood around.

"_I bless you, Shateiel, in the name of our Father who Art in Heaven. May thou be the aegis against the Darkness and may you one day be Tsubaki's husband. God knows she needs someone like you."_

I smiled at the image that took shape in my mind. It was – is – an impossible image. Although I had lovers aplenty in the Crimson Legion and children by them, I wanted this long, long ago. This impossible dream, taken for granted by so many, and cherished by the few who understood its value. I remembered how the children how the children of the orphanage tightened their holds around me, hoping for the same dream someday. But, without Richard…they would lose that strength. I knew that, when I returned to the Vatican to settle the score, that I had to deal with the children Richard had left behind. To do otherwise would be irresponsible, and the Crimson Legion of the Unholy Host frowns upon such sloth.

"_I praise thee, oh Holy Father. May thy grace bless thy children and thy hands protect them against Evil."_

The prayer that was heard at the edges of my mind caused the strength in my legs to give way, sending me back to the unforgiving, rocky ground with a crash. I gritted my teeth as white-hot pain scorched my every nerve-ending. Aziel's damn Charm…did he integrate a secondary Charm from the Book of Retribution into it? I spat a black curse – one that died on my lips as the voice that spoke the prayer earlier spoke it again, crystal clear and vivid amidst the agony. I've heard that same prayer so many times I could recall the entire verse from memory. I did not need to attend Sunday Mass – or **any** Mass – to know what was written in the so-called Holy Book. Each and every line had been edited, altered or had some part omitted. The original message was lost long ago. Any truth that the Divine Word might have contained was twisted by the false saint, a certain Paul of Tarsus, whose schizophrenic tendencies would torment a world centuries after his death. I had seen this insane fool many centuries ago, back when civilization would have benefited from the wisdom of past empires, preaching that the works of heathens were an insult to God. With the backing of an Emperor, he had brought his insane world ideal into being. I had wanted this bastard killed and hanging from the battlements of Pandemonium, begging God for mercy. I wanted him dead before countless innocents would suffer just because some egotistic bastard who wanted the Tyrant's favor would carry out the edicts written in the false saint's book.

But, the voice that spoke that prayer was one that could make anyone believe in God again – even one who fell as far as I have.

"_God's Word is not a lie, Shateiel; His mercy and love are granted to all. Even to those who fell as far as you have…"_

Silvana's warm, quiet face appeared in my mind. Red-gold hair framed her rosy face like a halo and her lean form was due to a Spartan regime of discipline and training. She was the younger cousin of Richard Sanders. At 23 years old, she was 15 years Richard's junior and the same age as Huishen. Though related by blood, the two were as different as night was from day. Richard was an extrovert whom everyone found easy to get along with; Silvana was his direct opposite, introverted and thoughtful. She was uneasy in the presence of anyone not of the cloth. Silvana was also Wesley's lover – a fact that was frowned upon by a good majority of their peers.

"_Faith is akin to light. Truth is the road in which Faith illuminates. That is the basic truth in the Divine Word, regardless of religion. It is disappointing that adherents of any faith start valuing Faith over Truth…and, as you have pointed out, Bloody One, it is but a prelude to great tragedies."_

Unlike the other dogs of God, I did not disapprove of Wesley's relationship. I have fought in worlds where the chaplains of the Tyrant were married and had families and were the better for it. Indeed, Wesley became more confident with Silvana around. I did not have to worry about the 'inexperienced captain', as Victoria put it, about him screwing the nearest hound. Silvana was – is – Wesley's guardian angel, right up to the very end. It was not the Archenemy – my side – that killed Silvana, but common thugs. When Wesley and I found her, it had already been too late. The thugs were busy taking turns raping her.

"_Wesley…I'm sorry…I couldn't…"_

I still remember Silvana's dying whisper, the pain and emotion that was heart-breaking. My memories of when I was human erupted in a roar that deafened Wesley's vocalization of fury. The Beast in me was howling pissed and hungry for blood. For once, my Beast and I were in agreement. Before Wesley's broadsword left its scabbard, I was already throwing the one who was balls-deep in Silvana and spilling his seed into her violated womb into the nearest wall, smashing him into a pulp and decapitating the ragged mess that remained with my katana. It was only minutes later that I managed to chain my Beast once more, to find myself standing amidst the bloody ruins of twenty thugs. My anima banner was flaring, illuminating the entire area in unholy light reminiscent of a dying star. I saw my friend – one of the rare few I considered one – clutching his lover in his arms. I could not say a word. What could I say?

"_Have faith, Shateiel, and God will have mercy."_

I will never hear that voice again, telling me that everything will be as God wills it. I would never see the blush on her face when Huishen would ask her embarrassing questions about how good Wesley was in bed. I would no longer see her cooking for the orphans at the orphanages her cousin watched over. I will not see the children she could have given a good man.

I got back to my feet, fighting back both the pain and the wave of emotions that threatened to send me back down again. My conscience, a shriveled thing, shouted from its grave, asking if the sacrifice of people as good as this was worth the fulfillment of my mission. Yes, it was, I replied, for if any other hands gripped that Sword, then the entire world would burn. This way, we have a chance of postponing the inevitable.

"_I will lead the traitors away from here, cousin. You and all the rest go to the Golan Heights. Too many of us have died. We must ensure that the Sword of Lucifer does not fall into the hands of Galford, his lackeys, or the servants of the Archenemy."_

Yes…that was the name of the Inquisitor-General: Galford D. Christchurch. Heh, I must be getting old to have forgotten that bastard's name. Wolfe Galahan was a well-built man with red eyes and hair. Formerly an ex-agent of the American CIA, he had joined the Vatican after a fiasco that had left him and several key agents out of work. Wesley had swiftly recruited them, using their skills in espionage and intelligence gathering to better increase his chances of finding his prey. Of these, Wolfe was one of their best and was their de facto leader.

"_Hatred is a poisonous cancer that can eat away at one's soul, Bloody Angel. I know you know this. And I know the reasons why Wesley chose to rescue you instead of leaving you to die. Few of your kind, so close to achieving full demon princedom, will have even a shred of humanity left; you are cold, merciless killers and ruthless generals – the very essence of the Morningstar's cold wrath and icy hate. But you…you are – you __**were**__ – a hero once…and it shows."_

Wolfe Galahan was Wesley's half-brother. They shared similar features and had the same preference in weapons and fighting style. Wolfe, like Michael, had a love of books and could be found in one library or another – or hunting for books during his free time. Not only that, Wolfe loved alcohol. I've lost count of how many times he was caught trying to smuggle liquor into the Vatican for our late-night binges. He had the Discipline Masters of the Orders looking for some excuse to smack him with the nearest sledgehammer. On those nights, I would tell him about the worlds I had seen and the wars I've fought in. I would tell him about the heroes and heroines who tried to stand in my way, only to die at the end of my flaming sword. I've cast Kings and their families from the battlements to the adulating cheers of my troops, who howled my name and raised bloodied weapons to the ashen sky blackened by the dust of a burning city and the heavy with the screams of its people. Tsubaki would join us, provided that sake was available – and Wolfe always ensured that it was.

"_Promise me that you will not let Galford get away with this…"_

You do not need to ask, Wolfe. I'll have this idiot in the last level of Hell and hanging from a gibbet – and that is if he begs me for mercy. I've lost enough friends over the decades I've been alive. I don't make friends easily, but I treasured those I had.

I looked up. I was getting closer to the sword.

"_I would never have believed that he would have gone this far just to see me dead. He had plenty of chances back then to betray me…so why now? What have I done to have caused him to turn against everything we believed in? Was he jealous of my taking the captaincy of the St. Michael Paladins? Was it because I have won the esteem of my brothers and sisters in the only way that mattered? What…?"_

I closed my eyes and tried to banish Wesley's voice. You, Wesley, are the one of the few people I wished I had never met. Had it not been for you and your Paladins, my past would have remained in the dusty recesses of my memory, never to be resurrected. You amazed me by the fact that although your position was equal to that of Galford's, you never let it get to your head. You were always found in the thick of battle, till I could almost swear that you were insane; it is as if I was staring at a mirror image of myself. Two Bloody Angels, one armored in gold and silver, the other in black and crimson. But, you are not me. You are not inured to betrayal and how low humanity is capable of sinking in order to get what they want. That naiveté had almost cost you your life.

"_Rolf is right. We must end this – one way or another. Tonight, we are going to the Golan Heights ahead of our peers. We cannot risk Galford's lackeys or the servants of the Archenemy getting their hands on the Sword. If we don't…there is no telling what will happen. If that Sword is as powerful as you say, Shateiel…then no one on this Earth can be trusted with it."_

And so, you send me to avert the Apocalypse. Send a devil prince to conquer a prince amongst devil princes. An excellent, if not risky, choice; I am the only one that can even have the slightest chance of _touching_ the Morningstar's Sword without being turned to ashes as Aziel had been. Your trusting me may be the biggest mistake you make, Wesley.

"_No matter how deep you are in Hell, the Order will come for you. Yes, even Victoria and Aziel. You are worth that much – and not as a hostage."_

Thank you, old friend, for being one of the few people in Creation to believe in me. I suppose, in exchange for that, a betrayal of this magnitude should be good enough a repayment. The Morningstar will be enraged, though. I grinned. The sheer thought of tweaking the Morningstar's nose with such daring was irresistible. It would gain me a reputation for being insane and suicidal, but it would be worth it! The Archdukes themselves would raise a toast to the idiot who dared to beard the lion in its very lair.

"_If this is the best you can do, Satan had better start thinking on how to lose with grace. His champions are…lacking."_

The mountain roared again, the sound of its molten heartbeat the echo of Wesley's swords and mine crossing.

"_Focus, Bloody Angel, is the one thing you lack. You are mighty, yes, but you can be mightier still if you can control that raging inferno that is the source of your powers."_

Aoshi Shinomori, a man of action who spoke little. Born in Japan the day after Hiroshima was incinerated by nuclear fire, he was born to a samurai family who had struggled to help its country rebuild, surrendering what little dignity it had for the greater good. Aoshi was a master swordsman and leader of an obscure group of highly-trained assassins known as the Guren. The assassin group's birth dated back not long after the birth of Christ, during an age that the vampires of the Camarilla whispered was when the gates of Gehenna itself swung open. Their skills and methods for hunting and killing whatever beast the Pit spawned were instrumental in the formation of the organization that was the Inquisition.

"_The easiest choice is not necessarily the right one. So, tell me, Bloody Angel…why did you choose to turn on your compatriots?"_

Simple, Black Ice Aoshi: I hated them. It is good enough a reason to betray them, is it not? We, the children of Adam and his lovers, are not above betrayal and murder. The story of our race's birth is one drenched in blood, sex and betrayal. It is a story of damnation, a tale so sad that even the Morningstar refuses to hear it told. To speak of it, to even glance through the book that is kept within His Majesty's chambers, is to invite Final Death. Not even God's most trusted servants are allowed such a privilege, so my mistress had once told me.

"_Remember: the Beast that your Exaltation is the source of your power was originally part of your soul. It is the gift that the Darkness gave during the creation of humanity. Once, long ago, our oldest stories bespoke of humans who were born without Evil being part of their souls. So, when they came into contact with an external source of that same Evil, the effects were disastrous on both body and soul. _

"_Also, if one can harmonize one's soul, it is possible to allow that Beast to take a form of your own choosing. It's a high-level technique and one that anyone can master, given time."_

Aoshi was skilled to a level that he awed even me. No human I had ever known could wield the twin katanas with the level of skill that Aoshi displayed. I have seen my Exalted kin backpedal in the face of the storm of blades he could unleash. Inspired, I had taken to incorporating his fighting style into my own. Aoshi had a gift: he was able to speak to his ancestors and learn from them. It had a cost, however: Aoshi was forced to pay with his very life-span. I doubted that he would live to see his fortieth birthday – but never once did he complain. He knew the price of power and duty and went about paying it with regal dignity.

"_A starry night; the cold winter nights before a fire; to watch the sakura fall in my homeland – these are some good reasons to enjoy sake. But, I believe after a fight like the one we just had is just as good a reason to enjoy it more."_

Forget about getting Aoshi to surrender; it simple takes too much effort – and the fact that once he makes up his mind to kill someone or something, it was pretty much pointless to change his mind. Tsubaki and Hayami told me that Aoshi's sobriquet of Black Ice fitted him to a T. He was a man hard to terrify or intimidate. The emotionless look on his face would always be there regardless of whether he faced an angry bishop or a demon prince.

"_You are perhaps the most human person I know."_

I froze and turned about, half-expecting to see the silver-haired, silver-eyed priestess behind me. Tsubaki Katsuragi was a traditional Japanese shrine-maiden and was part of the Guren organization Aoshi headed. Even after she came to the Vatican after accepting Wesley's invitation to join the Order of St. Michael, she did not abandon the traditional garments of her homeland nor her religious Shinto practices. That had earned her the enmity of the hardliners in the Church, who regarded Tsubaki as an infidel and a pagan. Twice they had called for her expulsion, and twice Wesley had stepped in to deflect their demands. No matter what Tsubaki did, it would never silence the simmering resentment and dislike within the hardliner factions. But, she did not care about their petty hatreds.

"_Hatred is a sign that people are afraid of you."_

Tsubaki did not hate me. When we first met, it was like she had been waiting for me. The first words out of her mouth had been a simple welcome and that she had been waiting for me. I was confused at first, but the months that passed showed me their meaning. And I treasured every day of it. It had taken seven hundred years for my hate and anger to end – but it had ended, just like my mistress said it would one day. I remembered my time with Tsubaki clearest of all. The long nights in the library, drinking under the stars in the countryside, the long hours training together…the memories caused my heart to ache. I wished I had met Tsubaki all those long decades ago. I wished that, when I fell under the weapons of those I had loved, that I had been strong enough to not hate them for what they had done.

"_One day, I would like you to come to my country, Shateiel. There, we can refine your skills, among other things. My family has expressed interest in wanting to meet you."_

That dream is over, Tsubaki. But it was – is – a good one. And I thank you for wanting to share it with me.

"_We cannot change fate, but we can change our destiny."_

Can I do that? Do I have the power to change my destiny?

"_You can make your own destiny, my beloved. You can stride on your own two feet and choose with your eyes open. I am glad I have met you – even if it was but for a moment. Your mistress was right about one thing, though__...__."_

I strode up the steps of the altar where the Sword of Lucifer laid bound.

"_Like freedom, the price of redemption is high. Tonight is the night you pay for walking back into the Light. That is…if you choose to do so."_

Should I? Should I do so? My mind was awhirl with the possibilities of that future. Can it still be mine? Is there a chance that I can reach for that star?

"_Father…"_

"_Shateiel, my knight…"_

"_Papa…"_

"_We will all wait for you, my love. You belong to us. We – as one – chained ourselves to you."_

"_The night has no rainbow, idiot. It is a proverb amongst my kind…but I like the way it sounds. Full of hope and defiance…it is what life is all about if you've got the guts to make it your own!"_

"_I love you, papa."_

"_Is it wrong, papa, for me to love my brother?"_

"_You belong to me, Shateiel. And that means you are the property of the Crimson Legion of His Majesty's glorious army. From here on out, you will do as you are told, when you are told, and have those tasks done as soon as possible. Am I clear? Good. My name is Cameela. I will be your captain – and that means you take your orders from me, and me alone. Are we __**very**__ clear on this?"_

"_My name is Uranus, warrior. What is yours?"_

"_I am Silana-Calaster, of the sect of the Rising Moon."_

I froze instantly, my hands inches away from the Sword of Lucifer's ornate hilt. Crimson rivulets from my open wounds streamed down past the cross-guard and down the rune-etched blade. The runes began to glow a soft crimson light and I heard whispers amidst the roar of the mountain's heart. It was hard to make them out as there were thousands of voices speaking at the same time. But, I knew each one of them. Some were centuries old, but all of them had names. My lovers and my children; my comrades-in-arms; my enemies…I knew them all. In that instant that spanned a thousand years, I knew what I had to do.

"_What is at the end of the sky?" _Wesley.

"_To live is to learn. No man is without his flaws. No man is without his strengths. As we live, so do we learn to accept the first while strengthening the second." _Hayami.

"_Blood can always be washed away."_ Victoria.

"_You can, one day, walk under the sky of this world as a free man." _Huishen.

"_Life is a blank ticket, man. That's the way I like it. My rules, my road, my way…but I'd best check the speed limit, eh?" _Randall.

"_I want a future where I can see my children grow up without fear, Shateiel." _Silvana.

"_To not know fear is foolishness. To act despite it is courage."_ Aoshi.

"_Don't die for nothing." _Raphael.

My fingers closed around the hilt…

"_Dark power invested in a man does not make him evil. Look at you. I tried every which way to blacken that soul of yours…and all I got was wasted effort and cutting my own legs from under me! But, I don't regret it. I saved you that time…because you were a choice soul. Letting someone else get you would be a mistake on my part…"_ Cameela.

"_I am willing to be your shield, and give power to you, the blade. If you want me to die, you have but to ask." _Tsubaki…

Tear spilt from my eyes. The mental image of Tsubaki lying dead on the cold stone floor in the upper levels of this damnable place told me that there are far worse fates than honoring a pact I made long ago. I closed my hands around the Sword of Lucifer. The sword shuddered violently, then, as the chains that bound it uncoiled and lashed back before falling into the lava. The mountain shook violently, the tremors of felt for miles around. To me, however, it felt like the whole world was shaking in fear. It knew what was about to come.

I smiled.

One last dance, before the end, I spoke softly to the statue of the Morningstar. Her perfect stone lips curved into a smile, and one of the wings reached forward to brush my face.

'_**Granted.'**_

_To be continued…_

**(O)**

_**Author's afterword:**_

Well, here it is – the second draft of Angel Halo. It took me some time to get it done, but this is the first step to fulfilling my promise to making a (good?) story better. So, to those who are reading this story, I apologize for the sudden stop in my first draft. Some of my reviewers – and my editors - wanted me to take a chisel and hammer to this, and I agreed with them. It **was** time to clean up. I am now working on the next chapter, and will post it up soon.

_**Character profiles:**_

For those who play D20, I extend a challenge. Most of the characters below are in epic class, and thus, I will appreciate if any of you will create a template for each of them. I am not only writing a story; I am also creating a scenario where **YOU** can play in the world I created – and hopefully, enjoy it. So, send in your entries. I will give credit to those I post up.

Shateiel Spiritblade

Wesley G.

Victoria

Aziel Helmraz

Michael Adel

Richard Sanders

Silvana Sanders

Chen Huishen

Raphael Carleon

Ezekiel Rage

Randall Masters


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**The new transfer students – 1**

**End of Summer. Old memories, unforgotten pain.**

_They say that the Devil's greatest trick was convincing Man that he did not exist._

_I tell you that it is not the only one._

-The Archivist of Rome, Etrius de Marcello, 1025 A.D.

_**Kyoto City, Japan, 6**__**th**__** September 1999, 0530 hrs**_

_A young boy wearing a gi and hakama stood alone in the garden, gazing into the pond where the carp swarm leisurely through its crystal clear waters. The garden was beautiful and peaceful, and the air was cool and refreshing. The scent of the sakura trees was fragrant, familiar and comforting. The birds that were perched upon them twittered, ruffling their feathers, before taking to the air. The boy knelt, running his hand through the icy water, letting the carp nibble his small fingers playfully. He smiled. It was something his father loved to do whenever he paid a visit to the Mikage family's Head House. The boy could still see the silhouette of his father beneath the same trees he now knelt under. _

_Once, not so long ago, his father would hold informal story-telling sessions here. He remembered the large gatherings of children – and no few adults – as they prepared to listen to the next chapter of whatever story his father told. He remembered worlds richly described and the traditions and cultures of the people living in them. He remembered how his father's voice would cause him to fall asleep in his mother's arms and how – even though he slept – he could remember every word of his father's stories._

_The boy removed his hand from the pool…and studied his reflection in the still waters. A mop of brown hair framed a cherubic face, and grey eyes stared back at him. His aunt loved to tell him that while he had his mother's features, the way he carried himself reminded her of his father. The boy's aunt would always get that pained look in her eyes whenever she said that. Shaking his head, the boy turned about and studied the old, but well-tended, houses of the family estate. _

_He did not understand why his parents and his aunt disliked coming to this place before but, now, he knew the reasons why. His back still hurt terribly, the familiar ache of healing wounds causing him to flinch from time to time. The boy froze suddenly when he heard the sound of crushed gravel behind him and turned…_

**(O)**

_**Tsuki Restaurant, residential wing, 2**__**nd**__** floor, Makoto's room**_

…And Makoto woke up as he felt someone approach him. His dream-self returned to the real world in the space of a heartbeat. As it was with such journeys, the return trip was disorienting in the extreme. His senses were a mess, and he could hardly think properly. Makoto cursed under his breath; his sensei could hit him hard even though he promised not to! That taught him a lesson to accept **anything** his sensei says at face value! Promising not to hit hard often means the latter will strike harder **and** faster! If this went on, it wouldn't be long before the Mikage family would have their chance to piss on his grave. The bruises he had gotten from yesterday's training session still ached.

"Damn it, sensei…that hurt…," Makoto groaned as he turned to face the person who was hovering over him. There were only two people living in the residential wing of the traditional restaurant – him and his aunt. The latter was doing an impressive impersonation of a vengeful ghost – hair cascading down around her as she leaned over him; her eyes wild and fierce, blazing in the darkness; her lips curled back in an angry snarl, revealing sharp, gleaming fangs thirsting for his blood.

If it was meant to wake him up, it worked like a charm. Makoto gave vent to a frightened shriek that would have woken up the entire neighborhood, had it not been for the specially-constructed soundproof walls that his aunt had requested be installed in her home so as to ensure the privacy of its inhabitants. His aunt immediately withdrew and switched on the bedside lamp, illuminating her beautiful features. Long, copper hair framed a rosy face that was younger than its thirty years. As a result, there had been many incidents when the restaurant's patrons mistook its owner for one of its employees.

He also knew from first-hand experience that his aunt's schoolgirl appearance hid a woman of immense fortitude. Mikage Saya was not a woman who gave up. Her green eyes radiated the strength and determination that had made the restaurant she owned, _Tsuki_, one of the top twenty restaurants in the prefecture. Traditional Japanese restaurants faced stiff competition from their more modern counterparts, and to be able to match the high standards of the latter was a source of great pride for the former. His aunt's stubborn nature had endeared her to both her employees and her customers, earning her the nickname of 'Shogun Saya'. It was a private joke that was shared by many, but one never spoken in her hearing. Nobody in his or her right mind wanted to be on the receiving end of Mikage Saya's infamous temper. The bookstore owner who frequented the restaurant on the weekends with his family had once commented to Makoto that had his aunt been the Tokugawa Shogun – or his advisor – the history of Japan would have been radically different. The Meiji Restoration would have failed dismally and the Western powers that had forced Japan to open its gates to the rest of the world would have found themselves facing a formidable modern power capable of challenging their rule mere decades later.

Makoto, in his more private moments, could not help but agree with the bookstore owner's assessment. After all, military leaders have been known to stealthily sneak up on their subordinates at the most awkward of times and catch them (sometimes, literally) with their pants down.

"For the love of…" Makoto tried to calm his bullet-train of a heart before he went into cardiac arrest, "What are you trying to do, you witch? Kill me?"

His aunt met her nephew's grey eyes with sardonic amusement, "I'm trying my best, but it seems that my efforts are going to waste. Besides, if you died, finding a good replacement would be such a hassle. And I'd have to pay him, which will eat into my profits."

Makoto scowled at his aunt before looking at the digital clock next to his bed, "It's only 5:30 in the morning, Saya-san. Why do you need me up so early?"

"I need some help to prepare the restaurant for today. I've given most of our staff the morning off as the party that school principal held to welcome his newest staff yesterday night ended late," Saya replied, running a hand through her long hair, "And you're the only one I can call on for help."

"You mean the only slave you can call on for help?" Makoto fired back.

"Indeed."

Makoto ground out several choice insults under his breath. He wanted to refuse, especially after the strenuous training session the night before. Aoshi-sensei's training regimes bordered on murderous and only the most dedicated were allowed to train in his dojo. Although the number of students was but a fraction of that of his school's kendo club, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the students of Aoshi-sensei's dojo were among some of the best martial artists Japan could produce. The Shinomori dojo itself had won many national and international awards since its founding over a century ago; its older peers gave it a measure of respect, acknowledging that many of the old ways that were slowly being forgotten remained strong within its walls.

"Give me ten more minutes, Saya-san, and I'll meet you in the main building," Makoto begged, "Please…"

"Ten minutes," his aunt nodded in agreement before departing, leaving her nephew to try and rouse the last few brain-cells that were still in torpor. It was so tempting for the young man to crash back onto the bed and sleep another hour, but he knew what would happen if he did. His aunt would do her re-enactment of a vengeful ghost, and he'd be made one for real. The young man got up and stretched, wincing as his still-aching muscles groaned in protest at the abuse. The summer holidays had ended yesterday and today was the first day of a new semester. While most of his peers had enjoyed their summer holidays, Makoto and several others did not count themselves among them. Aoshi-sensei had driven them harder than he had in previous months. Marry that to the murderous amount of homework he had to do and the extra classes he had to attend, one had to wonder how was it that the young man had managed to retain his sanity.

Besides, he added mentally, if he had not finished the work and projects his teachers had assigned him, they would gleefully proceed to crucify him. Had his classmates not given him a hand with them, he would have floundered halfway through. The one bright spot in this otherwise dismal affair was that the extra classes and work had given him an edge in his studies. He was confident that he would be able to pass the year-end exams that would come in two months time. Makoto turned and looked at his kendo armor, which rested on the rack, and the two _shinai_ (1) which he had sanded and oiled the night before. But before that, there was the matter of dealing with the very long line of people who wanted to settle old rivalries. He grinned ruefully, remembering what his cousin, Kasumi, had said regarding them: _"Makoto-chan, your name is inscribed on _**every**_ shinai in 6 dojos. That's a _**lot** _people who want your head. But they're not going to get it_! _Why? Simple – because your head belongs to _**me**…!_"_

It had been spoken in jest, but Makoto knew that Kasumi treated her rivalry with him seriously. She had viewed him as one ever since they were children. Anything he did, Kasumi would be there trying to better him. He shook his head. It was as if he was dealing with a 16-year old version of his aunt. Makoto's thought processes screeched to a halt at that, and the young man turned to look at the clock. Ten minutes had come and gone. He gave vent to a strangled yelp before he quickly opened the sliding door to his balcony, grabbed a towel off the rack, and rushed to the bathroom, praying that his aunt would not kill him for being late.

**(O)**

_**Tsuki Restaurant, Main Building**_

In those rare instants that miracles do happen, most people are prone to thanking God on their knees. Makoto was no exception. His hot-tempered aunt had remained silent even though he had arrived twenty minutes later. It was a clear sign to the young man that his aunt was clearly exhausted. Makoto shook his head, knowing that telling her to go back to bed was a bad idea. Hard work and his aunt went hand in hand. Most of his aunt's employees had gone as far as to comment that Hell would freeze over the day Mikage Saya took a day off or took it easy. Even when she was sick, she would force herself to work, causing Makoto no end of grief. Makoto had lost count of the number of times his colleagues had begged him to convince his aunt to stop working before she set the whole restaurant on fire.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you so early, Makoto-chan," his aunt said, her tone apologetic, as she set another table, "I know the holidays have been hard, considering the amount of work, extra classes and training that you had to put up with."

Makoto headed for another table, "And if you already knew that, Saya-san, why do you insist on making my life more difficult? I wanted to sleep a little longer."

"Sleeping too much is bad for you, Makoto," Mikage Saya replied, her green eyes bright with mischief, "And after all, I doubt you could sleep after the stunt I pulled."

Makoto glared at his aunt, "One day, I'll get you for that, you old witch!"

"When Hell freezes over, kid!" Saya said, flipping her hair with regal disdain and covering her mouth with her kimono's long sleeves. Makoto looked at the ceiling in silent suffering, and Saya felt melancholy strike her, wiping away the mocking smile that had been on her face moments before. That expression was one she had often seen on the face of her brother-in-law whenever he had to deal with her sister. She remembered the brown-haired, grey-eyed foreigner who had come to Japan to find work and raise a family. Her sister had been taken with him, as were the girls of the Celestial Dragons biker gang. Her brother-in-law had turned their lives upside down. The picture that took pride of place in her room was proof of it. Every last one of those girls had found a life worth living. From school dropouts to school standouts; even the teachers who had given up hope on them had been amazed by the turnaround.

Even though their days as a biker gang were long over, each one of them could look back at their past and smile proudly at them. Three of those girls were now businesswomen. Four had gone into the police force. Two went into the JSSDF. One had migrated overseas with her American husband. All of them were married with children. It made her envious. At thirty, Saya was still single and unmarried. She had a few flings before, but not one of her relationships had lasted longer than a year. Already, she had heard rumors that the Mikage family's patriarch was planning another _omiai_ for her in the not so distant future. She scowled. Trust that old goat to improve the standing and prestige of the family on her back.

Saya gazed at her nephew. He represented, to Saya, the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the world – the chance to live life on her own terms, rather than one set by someone else. The copper-haired woman closed her eyes, remembering her golden-haired younger sibling and the zest for life that won her the very things the former wanted: a family, her pride and a future. And all that was left of all three was her sister's son, who was humming a lively tune as he worked. She remembered how her knees had given way when the doctor had told her that her sister had been pregnant when she died. Saya had not told her nephew about it; there was no point in adding more scars to a life already full of them. Had things been different, Makoto would be tormented by an adoring sibling who wanted nothing more than her _onii_-chan's affection. She chuckled at the mental image of her already-hassled nephew dealing with both her and his younger sister.

Makoto shared many of his father's attributes. His hobbies, work ethic and temperament were a dead ringer to those who remembered Saya's brother-in-law. Her nephew suddenly froze in place, his face a mask of pain as strangled groan left his lips. He quickly put down the crockery before he dropped them. Saya quickly moved over to her nephew, "Are you all right?"

"It's my shoulder."

"Aoshi…?"

"Who else do you think is capable of inflicting injury even when you manage to block the attack?" Makoto deadpanned.

Saya snorted, "Careless fool. If you had been faster, you would not have even needed to _avoid_ the blow."

"And let Aoshi-sensei get in a free shot at my _men_, _kote_ and _do _(2)?" Makoto sniffed, "He'll call me stupid _and_ careless after he's done teaching me that attacking blindly is an invitation to die."

"As if you aren't both," Saya rolled her eyes as she massaged her nephew's shoulders, "Make sure to put medicated oil on your injuries when you come back from school. Avoid straining your arms and shoulders if you can. Before we go to sleep tonight, I'll massage your back one more time."

"Thanks, Saya-san," Makoto said when his aunt finally finished massaging his shoulders and upper back. He proceeded to finish setting up the last few tables when he saw several empty sake bottles on one of them. The young man knew immediately that those bottles could not have possibly been left by the customers the night before, nor by his workmates, who knew that leaving such things behind was asking for trouble. That left only one culprit – his aunt. He counted the bottles, and let out a long-suffering sigh. Now he had to scratch twelve bottles off the inventory list! Makoto really hoped that they still had enough sake in the storeroom; he did not relish having to explain to their regulars why they had suddenly run out of their favorite beverage. Holding some of the bottles between his fingers, he called out to his aunt, whose expression of curiosity soon became one of embarrassment.

"Oh dear…"

"Saya-san," Makoto was twitching in annoyance, "What did I say before about taking sake from the stores? Kami-sama, twelve bottles? What are you trying to do? Drink yourself into the underworld by breaking Misato-san's record?"

Now it was Saya's turn to start twitching, "Excuse me, but are you comparing me to that alcoholic hussy?"

Makoto grinned, "And what if I am?"

Saya cracked her knuckles, "Then be prepared for some pain, little boy."

**(O)**

Breakfast had been excellent, Saya thought as she wiped her mouth with the napkin. She had always loved western-style breakfasts, especially when her nephew made them. The one time she had offered it on her menu as a week-long experiment at her nephew's suggestion had led to her customers requesting that it be made a permanent feature on her menu. It had shocked Saya and her employees by just how quickly word had spread, and how many businesses and families in the area would make reservations for the breakfast bentos to start their day with. The copper-haired woman looked at the clock: it was already 6:30 in the morning and all but one of tables – the one she and her nephew were sitting at – had been set. Saya looked forward to retiring for another two or three hours after she had seen her nephew off.

Said person was grumbling and throwing her dirty looks as he stretched the arm she had pushed into an expert arm and headlock in their impromptu wrestling match some time ago. That showed him, she sniffed. How dare he compare her to that hussy! Katsuragi Misato was a regular customer to _Tsuki_. She worked as a police inspector with the department's Organized Crime Division and was the guardian of young Ikari Shinji, who was Makoto's schoolmate. At 29 years of age, Misato was a year younger than Saya and had curves seen only on swimsuit models. Lively, beautiful and tenacious, the purple-haired police officer reminded Saya very much of her departed sibling, and like her, turned heads no matter where she went. It did not surprise Saya that her nephew was fond of the female inspector and her ward: one reminded him of his mother and the other, of his sibling that had died with her.

She turned her gaze on the twelve breakfast bentos that her nephew had prepared earlier. Two were for Shinji and Misato, who would drop by prior to the latter driving the former off to school at F1 speeds in her blue Renault. The remainder was for Asamu Yuki and his friends, people Saya and Makoto had known for years, and who served the Mikage family as bodyguards. Asamu's team numbered six in all, but some of them had larger appetites, which led to Makoto being forced to prepare extra bentos for said individuals. Saya looked at the clock, before informing her nephew that he had best be on his way before the teachers strangle him for tardiness. The latter followed his aunt's gaze before sighing. He had to go now, or risk missing the 7 o' clock bus. If that happened, the teachers would do more than strangle him.

"I'll take care of the plates, Makoto," Saya said, "And after that, I'll catch up on my sleep."

Makoto looked over his shoulder at his exhausted aunt, the devil in him cackling mischievously as the young man took heed of its 'advice', "Please do. If I have to come back and see the ugly witch that woke me up early this morning, I'm throwing in the towel and moving out."

Saya's head shot up when she heard what her nephew called her, and she cracked her fists a second time in twenty minutes. The smile on her face would have sent hardened criminals running as she stood up and walked towards Makoto slowly, "You really want to die, don't you?"

**(O)**

_**Tsuki Restaurant, residential wing, 2**__**nd**__** floor, Makoto's room**_

There was another reason that Makoto did not want to be late for school. That reason came in the form of one Sanyo Yuko, the pretty but feisty P.E. teacher that worked in his school. Makoto's first encounter with the 23-year old teacher had been on the very day he had transferred into his present school from his previous one in the adjoining prefecture. That encounter had propelled Makoto's reputation to near-mythic proportions, considering that he had almost broken the teacher's ribs when she had tried to 'teach him his place'. Considering that Yuko-sensei was a martial arts expert, it had been surprising to many – particularly to Yuko-sensei – that he had managed to land a blow before the feisty teacher could react to it. Nonetheless, it had led to a severe reprimand and an apology on Makoto's part. After that day, Makoto had avoided the teacher whenever possible. No good would come out of a second meeting, even if it was to put the events of their first encounter to rest.

Yuko-sensei had, his classmates had told him later on, an ego the size of China. For him to have defeated her in short order was a blow to her image. Makoto sighed. He had hoped that his transferring to his current school would have allowed him a chance to start afresh, but bad luck followed him like a vengeful spirit. The young man turned to look at several pictures that rested on the bookshelves, the images in them over a decade old. Himself as a baby, with his parents; himself as a kindergarten student; himself in the Mikage family's mansion, surrounded by some of the cousins with whom he still kept in contact; himself with Ruri, her long, blue hair reminding him of moonlit oceans…

"Well, mom, dad, Ruri-chan, I'm off…" Makoto said as pulled on his blazer and picked up his bag, "It'll be as good a day as all the rest, I promise. So, watch over me, _ne_?"

There was no answer, nor did Makoto expect one. It was a ritual to him, to speak to the silent ghosts of those he loved and would never see again. It comforted him in the same way faith did to the countless thousands across the world. It did much, he admitted, in easing the pain on a wound that neither time nor medicine could heal. After all, when one had to fight every day to ensure one's place in the world, it was not an unreasonable request to ask for the strength to live in it. Makoto turned and left his room, smiling, as the sleepy fog in his mind faded away.

**(O)**

_**Somewhere in Kyoto City**_

Elsewhere in Kyoto City, in a small apartment, a golden-haired girl was preparing for her first day at the school she had recently been transferred to. The confirmation letters from the school's office rested on the table under a paperweight, and a small folder rested next to it. The girl reached out and opened the folder. Within it was a picture of a High School student with brown hair and grey eyes and his particulars. It had taken some effort on the girl's part to acquire her current accommodations and the information regarding the young man, but it had been well worth it.

But, there were many things about him she did not know. And the only way to find out the answers to those questions was to meet him in person. She smiled, tracing the outline of his face in the picture. She looked forward to meeting him in person. The girl replaced the file on the table before picking up her schoolbag. It was time for her to leave.

**(O)**

_**Outside Tsuki, several minutes later**_

By the time Makoto had reached _Tsuki_'s main gate, the darkness of night was already starting to give way to dawn. His aunt was there, waiting to see him off. Handing him his bento box, she proceeded to muss up his hair and gave his ribs a sharp jab before telling him to take care of himself. The screech of a car coming to a stop made Makoto turn and Saya to look up. Standing several feet away was a familiar black Renault, its gleaming surface giving the vehicle an air of menace befitting the professions of those who rode within it. Its doors swung open and its occupants emerged, revealing faces that Makoto and his aunt had known for close to a decade. The two knew all of them by name.

The first was Yuki Asamu, a well-built, purple-haired man who had served in the Mikage family's household as a bodyguard ever since his discharge from the United States Marine Corps three years ago. The discharge had been on psychological grounds, but Makoto had good reason to question the US Army doctors' prognosis. Asamu-san showed none of the symptoms associated with paranoia and schizophrenia, and a psychological specialist in Japan had confirmed it prior to his employment with the Mikage family. Asamu was also the elder brother of Yuki Megumi, the school nurse of Kyoto High, the school Makoto was studying at. Both of them were related to the Mikage family through their mother and who, like Makoto, had reasons to dislike the clannish family and their ways.

Behind Asamu were two of his colleagues, Asahina Kyoko and her younger sister, Mayu. Both women were in their early twenties, with two years separating the older from the younger. Both had blonde hair and blue eyes, but distinctively Asian features that marked them as mix-bloods. Makoto nodded towards them in greeting, chuckling inwardly as he remembered what one of his cousins had called the two. 'Half-elves', he had called them, in reference to the sisters' lithe build and the grace in which they moved. Both girls had degrees in Engineering and were proficient in martial arts and the use of guns. But, despite their apparent similarities, the personalities of the two sisters were as different as night was from day. Kyoko loved books and was a frequent visitor to the district library. Her younger sister, Mayu, was a carbon copy of the free-spirited Katsuragi Misato. Karaoke lounges and bars were Mayu's favorite hangouts, with her bedroom being a close second (especially **after** a hangover).

Next to emerge from the car was the oldest member of the coterie, Diva Rabunov, a lean Russian woman of thirty-five years of age. Like Mayu, Diva kept her hair long and wore a business suit and skirt. She had served as the Head of Security for the Mikage family's businesses in Russia and was rumored to be the daughter of one of the instructors of the now-defunct KGB, the feared secret service of the former Soviet Union. An ex-veteran of the war in Afghanistan, she had led a Special Forces group there who – after the disintegration of the Soviet Union – followed her into the Mikage Family's employ. Makoto met Diva rarely, but she was courteous and somewhat playful when their paths crossed. And of course, whenever she was in the country, she would order large amounts of bentos from _Tsuki_ for her men who would, sometimes, make an appearance themselves.

The last person to emerge from the car was Asamu's best friend, Bob Takigawa. Bob was a powerfully built man, easily larger than Asamu and twenty pounds heavier. Bob and Asamu went way back, long before the latter left Japan to join the US Army. The former was a school dropout, with a criminal record as long as his arm. Older and wiser, he had taken up Asamu's offer to be a bodyguard in the Mikage family. Bob was also taking part-time classes in order to ensure that he could return to the society he caused so much trouble for with dignity. It was hard to imagine that the big man dressed in the immaculately pressed business suit and tie to be a former street punk. Even though he had left that life behind, the street still acknowledged Bob as one of their own. If Bob had one quirk to his nature, it was that he had a sweet tooth. He loved ice-cream and cakes – and Makoto's breakfast bentos. Without fail, even when he was sick, he would put a reservation (for more than three sets) for it.

"Yo, Makoto-kun," Bob said, "How's life?"

"Cool, Bob-san. I've put two sets for you as usual," Makoto replied as he pulled out his bicycle, noticing the grateful gleam behind the big man's sunglasses, "Also, I've made sure to include two extra flasks of coffee. Make sure you share them around, 'kay? You drink the most and, from what I heard from Asamu-san, work the least."

The big man threw his friend a dirty look as his female colleagues tried their best to stifle their laughter. Asamu chuckled, raising both his hands to calm his friend, "Sorry to trouble you like this, Makoto-kun, but your bentos are the best bribing material in a job as hectic as ours. The coffee you make is simply to die for – and you know Diva has withdrawal whenever she doesn't get a good fix. Ouch!"

The Russian woman had given Asamu a slap up the head, "Take a good look in the mirror, moron. You're the one who needs it more than me. Your screwing around is going to land you in trouble one of these days," and she turned to Makoto, "Makoto-kun, you'd better get going. It's already seven. You don't want to be late for school. The teacher Asamu told me about is a most unpleasant person to cross, isn't she?"

"Like you wouldn't believe, Diva-san," Makoto replied.

"I still can't believe it when I heard it," Asamu shook his head in disbelief, "Even though it's been months, I still find it hard to believe. You, a measly third-rate martial artist, taking down someone like her – it's like some amateur taking on Mike Tyson in a title match and winning! Christ, what was that woman on?"

"Too many shots of ego, Asamu-san," Makoto replied, "That will kill anyone."

"_Da,_" Diva agreed, "Foolish pride goes hand in hand with a spectacular fall."

"But, you like her, don't you, Makoto-chan?" came Mayu's childish voice.

Makoto rolled his eyes, his expression asking the younger of the Asahina sisters if she had banged her head on the bedpost when she woke up. The girl giggled, but a sharp twist of her ear by her older sister made her yelp in pain, "Mayu-chan, Makoto-kun is not an idiot. This is real life, not anime. Few men are so desperate that they will fall in love with the person who wants them dead."

'_And besides…none of us want a re-enactment of what happened the last time…'_ Kyoko added mentally, remembering what Makoto looked like a year ago in the holding cell of the police station. That incident had almost gotten the young man expelled from his present school. She had remembered how even Diva had frozen when she saw him that day, shaking like she had never had back when she fought in Afghanistan with her unit. Kyoko shook her head to clear her mind, before tapping her watch, "You'd better get going, Makoto-kun, before you really **do** get mauled to death by that woman."

Makoto glanced at his watch, and said, "Agreed. I'll see you lot in the evening, then?"

"Count on it, boya," Diva said, "And I'll bring my boys and girls. Hope you don't mind, Saya-san?"

"As long as they behave and pay, Diva-san," Saya replied.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto Park, Kyoto City outskirts**_

Kyoto Park was easily three times the area of New York's Central Park. It was the perfect place, the girl thought, to hide in. There were several old, dilapidated two-storey shops scattered throughout the park that still had running power and water. While not as posh as her previous havens, it was perfect for the task at hand. The girl had taken the time to make the place as comfortable as she could – and secure enough that no unwanted visitors would enter the premises without her knowing. The girl turned her attention back to the mirror, pausing briefly to pick up a white hair-band from the table. She smiled, liking what she saw. The girl's reflection was of a girl in her teenage years, dressed in a high school uniform that complimented her athletic frame. Silver-amethyst hair, long and lustrous, tumbled over her shoulders to her hips, and crimson eyes, full of subtle mockery and confidence, stared back at her.

The girl pulled her long hair back, freezing when she realized that she was not alone in her haven. She looked up to see a tall, suave, well-built man who would not have looked out of place in the city's many nightclubs and bars standing behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. The man was dressed from head to toe in white, the color of his clothes several shades lighter than his snow-blonde hair, which was tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. The man opened his eyes, the crimson in them a shade darker than the girl's.

"Brother," the girl nodded in greeting, "I take it that everything is in order?"

"All is as you have requested, sister. I must admit that convincing the school principal of Kyoto High was somewhat difficult, but I succeeded all the same," the man's lips curved in a smirk, "She was quite the hellcat. Apparently, her husband does not give her enough loving in the bedroom. But enough of that," and his expression became serious, "I have some things to tell you."

The girl proceeded to tie her hair up in a ponytail, "Go on."

"The Wanderer, Harafel, lives in this city."

The girl froze, "What?! Why didn't I…?"

"Sense her?" the man finished, "Do you think that the Wanderer, who managed to elude the finest hunters of both the Legions and the Host for centuries since the fall of Rome, be caught so easily? And do you think, even if they did, those same hunters would not become the hunted within moments? I will not insult your intelligence by telling you answers you already know. Which leads me to my next point," and the man pulled out several vials from his pocket, "I **highly** recommend that you avoid her, no matter what. If she sees you, all bets are off; there is no doubt in my mind that she will try to run you down and kill you. Should that happen, use these vials. They will improve your chances of escaping."

The girl finished tying up her ponytail before taking the vials, "Understood."

"You are also advised to keep a low profile, Lilith. This city is under the watchful eyes of a Beast Court, and agents from our Legion in Tokyo are also present. The latter are a greater threat. Should any one of them even recognize you, you are ordered to silence them immediately. I will make sure that the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the Beast Court; our brethren in Tokyo have long wanted to settle the score with them – such an attack will give them all the justification they need to renew hostilities."

The girl, Lilith, met her brother's gaze for several minutes, before eventually nodding her assent, "And what about the Holy Order, Areil? Have their oracles caught wind of His Majesty's plan?"

"Not yet, from what I can tell. Our contacts in Rome have informed me that the high lords of the Order are still debating on what to do next. It is only a matter of time before they come to a consensus. There is a high chance that the hardliners will succeed in pushing their agenda through. Even if the moderates in the Order manage, by some miracle, to do the same, they will not be able to react in time," Areil replied, "The only person I would say that is a real threat to His Majesty's plan is that man. I would recommend that we silence him before he becomes an obstacle."

Lilith chuckled, her ruby eyes gleaming with mirth, "Do you think it will be that easy, brother? Do remember who you are dealing with? This is a man who has, single-handedly, defeated some of our King's mightiest champions and turned one of them to his cause, if only temporarily. This is a man who managed to win even with his back to the wall, and whose strength is proven beyond all shadow of a reasonable doubt. Any assassins you send will only end up dead and cause him to take action."

Areil had to concede the point, "So, you're telling me I should leave him to be someone else's problem?"

"Indeed," Lilith grinned deviously, "He may prove useful in culling those disgusting curs in the Ebon and Silver Legions. We will fight our dear Cardinal eventually, but only when we're ready."

Areil nodded his assent, and looked at his watch, "I think you'd best get going, sister. You'd be late for school."

**(O)**

_**Onimaru Shopping District**_

It had not taken the golden-haired girl long to get to the school, but the thoughts that plagued her mind during that time were not pleasant ones. From the moment she had accepted her task and set foot on Japanese soil, she knew that she could expect no help from her compatriots. There was no one – save the Exiled Wanderer, Harafel – who would come to her aid should she come face-to-face with her enemies. And the likelihood of the Wanderer coming to her aid was low; she was not so foolish as to blow her cover and break the non-aggression pacts she had made with various parties over the decades.

'_Do not presume that I will aid you, Sophia.'_

That edged tone had cut Sophia deeply, and the look in the eyes of her mentor told her that the latter wanted nothing to do with those she represented or their enemies. Where would her mentor stand in the days to come? Staying neutral would be impossible in the coming clash, and the major factions are of a mind that anyone who would not fight by their side was an enemy they had to destroy. Sophia ran a finger through her golden locks, remembering the reasons why the Wanderer had turned her back on those she had once fought for (as well as those she fought against) when the Great War finally ended, bringing an end to an era of legend. It had not been a decision made on the spur of the moment, but one carefully considered ever since the tragedy that befell the Wanderer and her lover. For years beyond counting, the Wanderer travelled the known world and had only recently settled down in Japan. She had watched Japan change from a feudalist state to a modern one, and had borne witness to the rise of the Japanese Empire as they spread their rule throughout Asia and their eventual defeat. She watched it rise from the ashes, becoming one of the most prosperous nations in the world.

Sophia knew that, in order for her mentor to continue living peacefully in the country, the latter would have little choice but to use her Disciplines to alter the memories of those she met. And the extent of Harafel's power was staggering. The variations of those psychic Disciplines were not only able to erase memories, but alter them as well. The golden-haired girl had seen the effects of such manipulations. She had seen good men and women become unwitting agents of the enemy, utterly devoted to a perversion of the very ideals they once championed. She had watched in horror as its use brought entire civilizations into ruin. She had watched, weeping, as it turned brother against brother, and turned love into bitter hate. But, thought it could be used for evil, those same powers could also be used for good. It could make strong the very things the malicious would seek to pervert or destroy. It could inspire hope and courage, nurture cherished dreams and make airy ideals into reality. It could elevate the meanest of men and women to glory. It could sow the desire for redemption in those who had, long ago, turned from the light. And it could heal wounds that neither time nor medicine could heal.

She remembered whispering words that had quieted his rage and sorrow as he slept, her hands soothing the scars that were a testament to a past filled with nothing but pain. Sophia had watched him sleep, tasted and felt his breath upon her skin. She had recoiled at the taint that had lain dormant in his blood and soul, a filthy, horrific thing she knew to be the touch of the enemy. But, that taint had a shape; it had the spiritual sigils of the unchallenged sovereign of the enemy. It had lashed out at her when she attempted to cleanse him of it, smiting her for her daring to do what the mightiest of her kin could not. Once upon a time, the unchallenged sovereign of the enemy had once stood second only to the King. The power and mastery the former wielded were matched by few and , when the War broke out and divided the once-loyal Legions of the King, he did not hesitate to turn those considerable powers on his former brothers and sisters.

The bus the girl was on soon came to a stop, breaking the girl out of her train of thought. From where she was now, the school was only past the shopping strip. Sophia stood up, joining over a dozen passengers as they alighted, some of them students at the same school she had transferred to. All of them, however, including those who were standing in line to board the bus, could not help but look at the beautiful foreigner that had just stepped out into the open. The sakura petals that wafted past her in the wind gave her the image of an incarnate angel. Couples who watched her tightened their holds around each other, not in fear, but in response to an unspoken promise. Salary workers of all stripes who had worked long years and longer hours felt the years of exhaustion drain away and the old steely strength and humor return, renewed. Children that had been crying inconsolably soon fell silent, gurgling happily, trying to catch the sakura petals that danced teasingly out of their grasp. The clouds that covered the sun parted, allowing its warm light to bathe the entire city.

Yes, many thought, today will be a good day.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto High School cafeteria**_

Makoto had reached the school earlier than most and had the opportunity to buy breakfast from the lunch ladies who would exchange (cheerfully) what they had for the sweets and snacks he brought over from _Tsuki_. He met the school's caretaker in the canteen, who had a thankful look on his face that the infamous 'Ghost of Kyoto High' had not managed to take years off of his already short life. His complaining that Makoto's ability to sneak up behind anyone without the unfortunate soul realizing it was a sore point to a man who had fought against elite Allied troops during the Second World War. The old cleaner had once shown Makoto the medals and letters of commendations signed by men who were no longer alive. He had once fought on Iwo Jima during the closing days of the war, and was one of the survivors that had been taken prisoner after weeks of heavy fighting.

Aoshi-sensei knew the old cleaner through another friend of his, a certain Hayami Kuro. The latter had apparently, from what his kendo instructor was willing to divulge, worked with him in the same overseas company when the war ended. The old cleaner, like Asamu and his colleagues, loved the coffee Makoto made and would often put a flask in the latter's keeping so as to have a fresh supply the next day.

"Is the coffee all right, Hiroshi-san, everyone?" Makoto asked as he nursed a cup of tea given to him by one of the lunch ladies.

"Excellent as ever, Kusakabe-kun," the older man replied, as the lunch ladies behind the counter gave him sounds of affirmation, "Thank you for making this. It really goes well with the sandwiches they give me and it is a good thing to wake up to. But, that aside, I have a question to ask. Does your aunt do catering?"

"Why do you ask, Hiroshi-san?" Makoto asked.

"My grandson is getting married soon. I was hoping that we could hold the ceremony at our family home," the old man replied. Makoto knew that the old cleaner's **entire** family lived in a three storey apartment block in Kyoto's central district. The land the apartment block had been built on had belonged to his clan for generations. It was, from what his aunt had told him, a piece of prime estate that over a dozen real-estate agencies would love to get their hands on. Hiroshi's family and the tenants that lived there had flatly refused each and every offer until several government officials stepped into the picture. That had led to Aoshi-sensei intervening on behalf of the old cleaner and his family. It had surprised Makoto to know just how many important people his kendo instructor knew – and how many favors they owed him. The Shinomori family was extremely influential and wealthy. Antagonizing them was as bad an idea as giving Yuko-sensei a black eye and gloating about it before getting the hell away. Regardless, Aoshi-sensei's intervention had seen to it that the estate was black-listed by the real-estate agencies.

To make matters more difficult for them, his kendo instructor had seen to it that the estate was listed as being under the ownership of the Shinomori family, and that Hiroshi-san's family were its caretakers. It was a shrewd move, Makoto thought. Aoshi-sensei would allow the family to keep their lands while taking a small percentage of the rent collected by them. Makoto had seen the newly-renovated apartments the old cleaner and his family lived in; it was better than before. The old _tori (5) _gate that had led up to a small shrine had been repaired and the shrine itself was seeing a new lease of life.

"I can ask my aunt, Hiroshi-san," Makoto said, returning to the topic at hand, "But how many people are we talking about here?"

"Maybe 50 to 60 people," the old man replied.

"Understood," Makoto said as he finished his tea, "I'd best be getting to class, Hiroshi-san. I'd better not give Yuko-sensei an excuse to strangle me…or for Saori-sensei to make me scrub the toilets again."

The older man laughed. Kagoshima Saori was the young man's homeroom teacher and was responsible for teaching his class English and Japanese literature. A beautiful, lively and intelligent woman, she was Yuko's direct opposite. Saori-san, despite her age, loved playing pranks on her students. Makoto's nicknaming her _megitsune_ (3) on the first day had stuck; the teacher had, ever since, made it her personal goal to make his life difficult. Nonetheless, Saori-san was a compassionate person and was one of the first teachers to stand up and defend Makoto when the latter had lost control a year ago and sent several of his schoolmates into the hospital's ICU. When Hiroshi had heard the story behind it, he himself could not blame the young man for snapping. Life was cruel, the old man knew. In Makoto, it is a reminder just **how** cruel it could be.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto High School, Year 2, Class 4**_

The classroom was not as empty as Makoto had hoped it would be. Several of his classmates were there, some of them having breakfast at their desks, in hopes of getting some time alone away from their parents. Makoto recognized Nagase Kouta, who sat with a hot cup of coffee in his hand and looking like he had seen better days. Next to him were their classmates, Nagase Sayo, Kouta's twin sister, and Okami Shirou, who sat at the last row. Like Kouta, both Sayo and Shirou looked exhausted. All three of them looked up when he entered, and they nodded towards him in greeting.

"Hey, Makoto-kun," Kouta said, "Good morning. You're here early."

"So are you, Kouta," Makoto replied, leaving out the honorifics, "You look like hell. Late night…?"

"Night shift," the purple-haired boy said, "Shirou, my sister and I just clocked out two hours ago. We barely had enough time to get back home, change into our uniforms and get to school. At least the Master gave the three of us the day off..."

"Try not to fall asleep in class, Kouta. Saori-sensei will kill you," Makoto said.

Kouta raised one eyebrow, "I'll do my best. Don't expect me to succeed."

The classroom door slid open, causing all four of them to turn around. There, standing at the entrance, was Makoto's cousin, Mikage Shinichi. Like latter's three classmates, the brown-haired Mikage scion looked like as if he had been hit by a train. The black circles under his eyes bespoke of a late night, and of a morning that came with hell to pay.

"What happened to you, Shinichi? You look like…no wait," Makoto paused as realization sank in, "You watched that movie, didn't you?"

Shinichi pulled out a chair, dropped his bag, and slumped over the desk with a groan. That was answer enough for Makoto. The latter shook his head. You get what you asked for; the movie Shinichi watched had been screened at 3 in the morning, ending at 5. His cousin had managed to get, altogether, four hours of sleep. How Shinichi was going to keep himself awake was open to conjecture, but Makoto knew that his cousin would be out like a light before the third period.

"You look like a panda bear and the way you walk reminds me of Misato-san when she's still sober enough to walk," Makoto said, "You'd better not show up in class looking like that, or Yuko-sensei will murder you."

"You'd better heed your cousin's advice, Shinichi-kun," Sayo said, running a hand through her long hair, "You don't want to end up in detention till nine, do you?"

"I don't think she'll need that much effort to do so," Shinichi replied, his head resting on his arms, "But, I'll heed your advice, regardless. I have no wish to die young," and he turned his head to his cousin, "Take a seat, Makoto. How were your holidays, anyway?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Makoto sighed, rubbing his still-aching arms. A thousand practice cuts with a real katana could do that to a man.

"And you came back to this," Shinichi sighed, "We will never have it easy, will we?"

"Never," came the despondent reply, "More exams, **more **assignments, **more** pain and Kami knows what else. Please, Kami-sama, end my misery…"

"No way He says," Shinichi gave a sick grin, "You're his favorite punching bag."

"Bastard," Makoto grumbled, though whether he was cursing his cousin or God was open to debate.

"Oh, lighten up, will you?" Shinichi said as he returned to his seat, "Oh, did you hear the latest gossip?"

"Huh…?" Makoto looked lost. Shinichi rolled his eyes, and let out a long breath. He forgot that Makoto spent most of his time in Aoshi-sensei's dojo and came out looking like he fought every demon and devil in Hell.

"I'll fill you in, then," Shinichi said, "When I met Yuki-sensei just now, she told me that there were two new transfer students – both girls – coming in today. They were scheduled to have a medical check before they are assigned to their classes."

Now that got everyone's attention. Even Kouta looked up sharply, and both his sister and Shirou had interested looks on their faces. "This late…?" Makoto asked, "It's almost the end of the year! Which school are they from? Shokan High?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Makoto. They're not from **any** local High School. At least, not those from Japan," Shinichi grinned upon seeing the realization dawn in Makoto's eyes, "Both girls are from overseas."

**(O)**

_**Kiyamachi Entertainment District, Kyoto City**_

Konda Todo was an imposing young man. At 22 years of age, he stood several inches short of six feet and his lean, well-built frame and arrogant swagger reinforced the stereotypical image of a gangbanger who was quick to take offense and quicker to put someone into the hospital's intensive care unit. His shoulder-length dark blue hair and green eyes, as well as that intimidating smirk, made even experienced street toughs think twice about messing with him. The image of a black sun on a red background sewn on his jacket sleeve marked him as a member of the Black Suns biker gang, a group he had been part of ever since he dropped out of High School six years ago. Konda had fought in gang wars, rubbed shoulders with professional underworld criminals and done things that made even his fellow Black Suns blanch. But, unlike his peers and despite his temper, Konda had a sharp mind and a gut instinct – something that the gang's backer had noticed and wanted to see nurtured – that had saved his life (and those of his fellows) several times over.

But, today, the gut instinct and streetwise that had served Konda so well would desert him.

The moment Konda had caught sight of that beautiful, amethyst-silver haired foreigner wearing the uniform of Kyoto High, his blood immediately turned to steam. He had stayed out late at one of the nightclubs with some of his friends to down a drink and pick up girls. Konda's luck had been good and he managed to pick up two of the hostesses for a night of fun. He had thought that he had had enough after been ridden halfway to his grave, but the way his heart-rate picked up and the way his penis shot up in his trousers told him that he still had the strength for another, _heavier_, round. He studied the girl's lithe, athletic frame, noting her long legs and her well-proportioned breasts. The curve of her chin gave her an aristocratic look, but the tilt of her eyes and the smirk on her lips gave her an air of arrogant confidence and sensuality one found only in those comfortable in the ways of the flesh. He grinned at the lewd image that took shape in his mind. Oh, this one will scream the house down when he showed her his…techniques. The hostesses that now slept in the love hotel Konda had emerged from some time ago were deep in the throes of recuperative slumber, their bodies having been driven to the pinnacle of carnal bliss the night before.

Leaving his bike where it was, Konda had tailed her, following her into an alleyway. No doubt she was taking a shortcut in order to get to school faster. Before he realized what had happened, Konda found himself looking into an imposing wall. A right, two lefts and wait…a dead end…? What the hell? He swore he saw the girl turn into this corner! Where could she…? The sound of crushed gravel made him turn. The girl was behind him, blocking the only way out of the alleyway. The question as to how and where she could have hidden faded as Konda studied his prey. Up close, the _gaijin_ girl was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no doubt in his mind that the girl would grow up into a beautiful woman somewhere in the not-so-distant future. And Konda had every intention of making that woman **his** woman. There was no one around to witness what he had in mind. He drew two combat knives from his jacket, a lecherous grin on his face, his lust making him impatient. He expected to see fear. He expected to see the realization in the girl's eyes as she realized what was about to happen. There was no way she could run; he would overtake her and bring her down in a heartbeat.

Konda had not expected the girl to smile.

The girl raised her head to look at him, and what Konda saw in the girl's ruby eyes made his blood freeze and his raging libido to turn to terror. The instincts that had served him well as a gangster told him that he was way in over his head. He had seen eyes like that before – and only on the criminal underworld's most ruthless assassins and contract killers. They were eyes that had witnessed and inflicted pain and suffering that would make even the most insane and hardened criminals wet themselves in fright.

Konda readied his combat knives, the comfortable feeling of his weapons causing his fear to lessen somewhat. No matter what this girl was, she could bleed. And then she would pay. He wouldn't hurt the girl too much. He had no intention of fucking a corpse. He returned the girl's smile with a cocky grin. The girl, for her part, studied his knives with cool amusement before turning her gaze on him, "Your lust is almost admirable, but your stupidity is certainly most noteworthy, little boy. It will take more than knives to hurt me...and more than guns to slay me."

With that, the girl tossed her schoolbag aside and strode towards Konda, the air about her shimmering and coiling, as if the fabric of reality itself was warping. The gangster's eyes widened in horror as the girl transformed into something both beautiful and terrifying. No one would hear the horrific, tortured screams that would be torn from Konda Todo's throat, even though a busy street was on the other side of the wall.

No one would find his body till two days later.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto High School, Sick Bay**_

"In any case, welcome to Kyoto High, Sophia-san," Doctor Yuki Megumi said as she turned towards the occupant in the adjacent chair. The golden-haired, blue-eyed German girl that occupied it smiled pleasantly in reply. The new transfer student was, the school doctor admitted, a beautiful girl. If the awed stares and slackening jaws of the male half – and some female ones, as well – of the school population were any indication when the purple-haired doctor had escorted her to the infirmary, she could foresee the stampede that would erupt as the boys fought to get to introduce themselves to their school's newest member.

Megumi had warmed to the Sophia the moment she met her, and had engaged in small talk as she performed the tests, asking about her homeland, her previous school life and the reasons why she came to Japan. Prior to Sophia's arrival, Megumi had looked through the German girl's academic records. What was written there was impressive, to say the least. The German girl was a bona fide genius, and her breath of knowledge was astounding. Sophia could have gone straight to University, but her decision not to told Megumi that the German girl wanted to enjoy her youth while she could. The doctor was not going to argue with Sophia regarding a choice the latter had made after much thought; one only lived once, after all. The moment an individual becomes an adult, one cannot turn the clock back to relive the past.

Standing up and stretching, Megumi turned to look out the window. More students were streaming in already. There was another girl she had to check on, but that one had not arrived yet. She had hoped to get it all over with before breaking her fast, but it looked like she had to wait. Sighing, she turned and faced Sophia, "Now, while we wait for you class representative to come and pick you up, may I offer you some tea?"

"Certainly, Megumi-san," Sophia replied in perfectly-accented Japanese, "And if it is all right with you, I would like to know more about the school, its staff and some of its more…interesting characters."

Megumi laughed. Oh, she knew of more than a few, indeed. Talking about them would most certainly spice up her Monday morning. The school doctor moved towards the portable stove she had set up when she first received her posting to Kyoto High, retrieved two cups from and poured two steaming cups of tea from the kettle.

"So, where do you want me to start?" the doctor asked.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto High, outside the staff room**_

Marimo Tokiya was one hassled girl.

She hated mornings.

She hated going to school.

She hated the holidays ending.

She hated the thought of facing the impending exams.

But, more than all of them combined, she hated it when her form teacher blames her for a job that the latter should be doing! When did it become the responsibility of the class vice-representative to visit the homes of her classmates during the school holidays and ensuring they were contactable? The girl growled like an angry tiger, causing students and teachers nearby to get out of her way or to look at her with sympathy. Nobody wanted to have their ears blistered on the first day of school, especially not by Enishi-sensei. At 57 years old, the teacher was voted by the student body as one of the most detested teachers in the school for her unreasonable demands and strict discipline.

"That damn old bat," the girl growled as she turned and stalked away from the staff room, her golden-brown eyes blazing, her hands practically crushing the documents that the old teacher had given to her, "What does she think I am? An Apostle…? Does she think I can see the future?"

"_Ohayo_, Toki-chan," a familiar voice called out, stopping the fuming vice-class representative dead in her tracks. The latter turned to see who had addressed her. Standing several feet away was a girl with waist-length black hair and eyes of liquid gold. Her normally serene face became one of shock when she saw the hostility in Tokiya's eyes. Tokiya, for her part, recognized the taller girl and felt her fury recede, her conscience telling her anger that the girl before her was not to blame for the predicament she was in.

"Sorry, Shizuka," Tokiya said sheepishly, "I…"

"Got scolded by Enishi-sensei?" Shizuka finished, "I understand."

Shizuka Hayame was one of Tokiya's best friends and was the resident Church girl of Kyoto High. The dark-haired girl had lived and worked in the Church adjoining the school grounds for as long as Tokiya could remember. A quiet yet friendly girl, she was the oldest member in the second year, excepting those who had been retained due to their failing the exams one time too many. Shizuka had started school two years later than most others. If there was one thing the students of Kyoto High disliked about their school, it was that it emulated the ways of their Asian cousins. Failing the exams led to the unfortunate individual being retained. Fortunately (or unfortunately, in the minds of some), the school board had elected to lighten the load of its students by reducing the mid-term exams to a mid-term test (which took a lot of stress off the mind of its students) and increasing the amount of projects and assignments that could help pull up their scores.

"Barely," the girl sighed, rubbing her temples, "But, that aside, what was it that Enishi-sensei was scolding you for?"

"For not doing **her** work for her, of course," Tokiya grumbled, "She practically laid it on me for her own incompetence! When did it become the responsibility of the class representative or the vice-rep to do the jobs the teacher is **paid** to do? And better yet, she blamed me for not informing her of the new transfer student that was coming in today! Who does she think I am? The School Board's Chairman? And on the matter of the School Board…why do they insist on keeping Enishi-sensei on the roster for? If this goes on, I am so sorely tempted to arrange an accident!"

Shizuka let her friend rant, knowing that the latter needed to vent, but she winced at the venom in Tokiya's words. Getting scolded on the first day back to school was not **anyone's** cup of tea. Then, the older girl paused as something her younger friend said sank in. A new transfer student was coming in today?

"Shizuka, are you all right?" her friend's query broke the older girl's train of thought.

"What? Oh, I'm fine. What was it you were saying again?"

Tokiya's fox ears made an appearance, and she fought back a snicker as her mischievous side high-fived her conscience, "I was saying that we should stop by Sakura Mall. There is a new ice cream store there. And you agreed you'd buy me one."

"Did I agree to that?" Shizuka had been wrong-footed and broadsided without any way to evade the barrage.

"Oh yes, you did. Especially since I said I'd bring Kasumi, Shinichi and Makoto along!" Tokiya grinned, her bad mood evaporating, as she started talking about what she had done during the summer holidays. Shizuka started to sweat-drop. When did she make such a promise anyway…?

**(O)**

Makoto sat alone at his desk. Shinichi had left him ten minutes ago when one of his classmates came by and told him that Koya-sensei, his class's English teacher, wanted to see him. He grinned. Shinichi's look when he had been told that Koya-sensei had wanted to speak to him had been akin to the expression a canary would have (if its expression could be seen in the first place) when it realized that the cat had opened its cage and had one paw in it. Mishima Koya-sensei was, next to Makoto's form teacher, one of the youngest teachers in the school and, like many people her age, looking for a prospective mate. She had her eyes on Shinichi, never mind the fact that he was several years younger – and that the relationship was one that fuelled gossip amongst both the teaching faculty and the student body. It was inflamed all the more by the fact that Yuki-sensei, the school nurse, was closed to home run than any other girl – or woman – Shinichi knew.

Yuki Megumi, the younger sister of Yuki Asamu, was, for lack of a better description, one hot woman. Her body was strong and curvaceous, and her long, dark pink locks were several shades from being purple. Her taste in clothing, with its low cut that could cause the blood pressure of any individual – male or female – to skyrocket, had some of the more conservative teachers in the school up in arms. Not that she cared. They could have her fired but finding someone to replace her would take months, not to mention that hiring a temporary school nurse would put a hole in an already-stretched school budget. Asamu had told Makoto that his younger sister was as free-spirited as the latter's mother had been when she was still alive.

The smile on Makoto's face became melancholic as he looked out the window. His mother and aunt were the result of an illicit liaison between the eldest son of the Mikage family, Mikage Kirihara, and a half-Japanese, half-European reporter, Kusakabe Trisha. His grandfather had wanted to marry his grandmother, but the Mikage family's House Head had refused to acknowledge the union. The latter's reason that mixing the blood of a pure-born Japanese noble family whose bloodline had remained untainted for centuries with a half-breed would weaken it and anger the ancestors of their household. Makoto had to give credit to his grandfather, though; he had walked out of the house to which he had owed so much without a backward glance. He knew the consequences of doing so and bore it like a man. For more than a decade, his grandparents had lived happily with their children, until his grandfather had died of a heart failure at the age of forty. His grandmother had no choice but to work twice as hard to raise her daughters, her fortitude the one precious gift that had inspired her children to make their own way in the world.

Makoto closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he remembered the darker days of when the family patriarch had taken his cane to him for daring to defy him. His father had hoped to reconcile his mother and his sister-in-law with their family when he had still been alive. He had, Asamu had told him, succeeded to a degree, until the accident turned him into an orphan. That was when the Mikage family moved in to claim him as one of their own. His aunt fought for custody but, in the face of the resources that the Mikage family brought to bear on her, it had been a losing battle. That was until his father's friend, Aoshi-sensei, stepped in. The expression on his teacher's face was one burnt into Makoto's memory; he had never seen his instructor as furious as he had been that day. Even the bodyguards of the Mikage family had backpedaled in the face of such fury. Whatever negotiations that had taken place behind the closed doors of the Mikage family mansion was privy only to a select few, but it had the members of the family itself relinquish custody of him to his aunt, albeit with a sour look on their faces.

But, no matter how many years passed, the scars would forever remain. It would take more than a simple apology to put to rest the anger and hate he bore for the Mikage family. Makoto shook his head. It was pointless to even think that he could get even with them. He would only bring more trouble for his aunt, who had done so much for him, and the few cousins, uncles and aunt within the family who had gone out on a limb to help them.

WHAM!

A hard blow hit the back of Makoto's head, knocking his earphones out, and completely derailing his train of thought – literally. Grimacing and rubbing the back of his head, Makoto turned a furious glare on the person who had almost killed him. He scowled when he saw his would-be murderer's face. Next to Yuko-sensei, the person behind him was one of the people he did not want to see first thing in the morning.

It was Marimo Tokiya, the vice-class representative of Class 2-1, his childhood friend and self-proclaimed rival. Also known as resident tomboy, teacher's pet (and punching bag) and loud-mouthed monkey, Makoto added mentally. How was it that he managed to pick up rivals faster than he picked up friends, anyway? Did he wrong someone in a previous life? Because if he did, that someone must have been on good terms with the _Amatsugami_: no power above or below Heaven had the sick sense of humor gods had when they wanted to make you pay for your transgressions.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he prayed for forgiveness or good luck, his list of rivals grew longer every year. It was not a comforting thought to know that all of them were plotting on how to turn him into a floor rag. As things stood, Tokiya was among the top five in that very long line. His cousin, Mikage Kasumi, came in first. And like any avenging spirit sent by the _Amatsugami,_ Tokiya had a smile on her face.

"O-ha-yo, Ma-ko-to-chan," Tokiya greeted him in sing-song, her grin not erasing the fox ears popping out of her head, and the cackling devils and angels giving each other high-fives.

"Damn it, Tokiya. Did you have to hit me that hard?" Makoto scowled, rubbing his sore head. A grand majority of the girls who had a bone to pick with him for some real or imagined slight were all fit, fiery and strong. His childhood friend was no different. Marimo Tokiya was the captain of the school's Athletics Team.

"Did I…?" the girl grinned impishly. The reply that had been on the tip of Makoto's tongue died as he saw his class representative, Okita Shirou, stride in. He gave a brief nod of greeting to Tokiya in greeting, before standing on the upraised platform reserved for the class's teacher. He swept the class with a stern gaze, and his body language indicated that he had something important to announce to his peers. The noise level in the classroom plummeted instantly. Satisfied that he had their attention, the bespectacled class-rep pulled out a notebook out of his blazer before he started addressing the class.

"Before I begin, I would like to welcome everyone back to school. I take it that everyone enjoyed the summer holidays?"

The reply that Okita got was an avalanche of groans and pained whimpers. Makoto chuckled upon seeing his classmates' reactions, even as he lowered the volume on his disc-man to hear what his class-rep was about to say. Okita, for his part, was rubbing his temple, even as he forced a smile, "I see. I regret to inform you that **all** of us can expect more of the same until our final year exams are over and done with. And no, I'm not joking. Kagoshima-sensei has handed me," and he raised his notebook, "a brief summary of what we will be doing this semester. Suffice to say, the LZ we're been assigned is hotter than hell."

The entire class groaned, and it was not because of their class rep's use of military lingo; it was expected as his entire family had served in the Japanese army since its inception. No, it was that whenever Okita mentioned an LZ being hotter than hell, it was a grim promise of worse to come. Unlike his classmates, Makoto had opted for slumping over his desk in silent suffering. Please, he pled to the snickering gods in Heaven, no more. The mental image of the _Amatsugami_ making bets on how long he would last was not encouraging – especially since several of the pantheon's more powerful female spirits had the smirking faces of his aunt, Yuko-sensei and Saori-sensei. The mental image of the last two running their slender fingers along the length of their brandished katanas made Makoto whimper.

"This," he whispered under his breath, "is a nightmare. Someone, please hand me the cyanide pills…"

Tokiya, upon hearing what Makoto said, patted her friend's shoulder in sympathy. Kagoshima Saori was the form teacher of Class 2-4. Like Koya-sensei of class 2-7, Saori-sensei was one of the youngest teachers in the school, being only 24 years of age. But, where the first was known for her addiction to pizza, the last was known for her wicked sense of humor. The nickname that Makoto had given his form teacher on their first encounter was one that was adopted by the school's shuddering masses who had learnt – the hard way – to fear what the school's resident fox-woman was capable of. Surprise tests and sudden changes in project deadlines were all part of Saori-sensei's bag of tricks that were orchestrated to leave even the sturdiest student on their knees.

Tokiya could tell that the Saori-sensei cared a lot for Makoto, especially after the incident that almost gotten the latter expelled over a year ago. Somewhere, amidst all the counseling and her standing up for him, something had changed. The pranks she played on Makoto were more light-hearted, designed more to embarrass him than anything else.

"Okita, you're seriously starting to scare me here. What is our fox plotting this time?" a student sitting at the second row asked, breaking Tokiya out of her train of thought, "I swear if it's another surprise test, I'm going to request to a transfer to another school before she drives me into an institution!"

"Drive you crazy?" another student replied, "She's already done that! Thanks to her, our summer vacation went up in smoke."

"**We**," Okita emphasized the word, giving his classmate a pointed look, "were the ones who ruined it, Hideo-san. Not our teacher. Did you see your test results? Do you need a second reminder? You don't. Neither do the rest of us. If we do badly in the final exams, then we will have to explain to our parents as to why we were retained."

"The other classes…"

"Did better than us," Okita replied immediately, "Do you want proof? I can get Marimo-san or Kasumi-san to give me a copy of their class's mid-term exam results. I doubt their respective form teachers will mind, especially when I tell them the reasons why. Stop complaining. None of us have a say in this."

Makoto sighed. He knew what was coming. And most likely, so did everyone else.

"What exactly does Saori-sensei have in mind, Okita-kun?" one girl asked.

"Remedial lessons," Okita said as he flipped his notebook to the correct page, "A lot of them. Enough to make me wish I had jumped off the Kiyomizu Stage when I visited it a week ago."

That statement caused every student in the class to exchange looks of dread. Okita at the end of his tether was not a pretty sight. And whatever caused him to want to throw in the towel would put his classmates flat on the floor and out cold. He looked meaningfully at Makoto, a gesture that caused one of their classmates to ask if the remedial lessons were their form teacher's way of getting back at the person who had given the last her nickname.

Tokiya exploded in laughter, much to Makoto's annoyance, "I wouldn't be surprised!"

"Don't even think you're safe, idiot! Do you remember Shinta-san? His being in another class did not protect him from Saori-sensei's plots. Unless you are part of the Imperial Family or a student of another school, then you're fair game," Makoto fired back. Tokiya tried to bring her laughter under control. It was clear that he had not forgotten the last prank his form teacher had played on him. It had, from what she had heard, caused poor Makoto to be thrown – uniform and all – into the swimming pool by the girls of the Swimming Team.

"I will be handing out the schedules for the remedial classes at the end of the day," Okita said, trying to stifle his laughter, "Attendance is compulsory, so don't even think about running away unless you have a good reason to do so. Now, on to other matters: firstly, the Autumn Equinox Festival. I am to remind those who have been selected to represent the class to attend the Festival Committee meeting this Saturday. Toka-san, as you're also part of the group, you will have to attend."

"Eh…?"

"Sorry about this, Toka-san, but it was a last minute change. Saori-sensei nominated you to replace me, but she couldn't contact you during the holidays. Why is that?"

The red-haired girl played with her ponytail, her expression sheepish, "Sorry, Okita-kun. My family and I moved to another prefecture. I'll be updating my particulars with the school office at lunchtime."

"Okay. Next on the list: the National Kendo Tournament. Makoto, Kuro, Hazashi," Okita looked at his three classmates, "this one is for you three. Hiromaru-sensei is holding a meeting after school hours for our school's Kendo Team. You are to attend."

Makoto exchanged looks with his fellow _kendoka_ and nodded.

"And lastly: the latest news. If you've heard about it, ignore me. If you find it to be absolute garbage, do the same. If you want to listen, be my guest. Now, all of you have heard about the rampant Y2K rumors that have been going around ever since the beginning of the year, haven't you? Computers crashing, bank accounts getting wiped out and all that?" Okita pushed up his classes, and chuckled, "Utter rubbish. No CEO of a corporation or bank who wants to remain in the good graces of his – or her – shareholders and customers will simply hope that this problem will resolve itself. No, they will ensure that things will go on as they always have.

"And, most of you have heard on the news, or read about it on the newspapers and internet forums regarding the end of the world, haven't you?" Okita rubbed his temples, "Do not believe everything you read or hear. I doubt the world will end in the fiery apocalypse that some religious fanatics say will happen when the Devil escapes his prison in Hell. I've said it before and I'll say it again: The world will **not** end. The malls will still be open, the bullet trains will still be running, and the sun will still be shining – even after New Year's," Okita paused, and pushed up his spectacles, his lips curved in a sardonic smile, "Though, if we make it to celebrate both Christmas and New Year is pretty much open for debate…"

The class laughed. Makoto turned up the volume on his disc-man. There was no point in him listening to the rest of Okita's announcements, which revolved primarily on matters which were none of his concern. He had enough to worry about. Makoto closed his eyes, as Okita's words regarding the end of the world replayed itself in his mind. He had been keeping contact with his friends from overseas, and none of them had anything good to say about conditions in their respective countries. His pen-pals in both the United States and Britain had informed him, via e-mail, that the law enforcement agencies in their respective countries were having a hard time containing the sudden surge of criminal activity. There wasn't a day, his friend in the US had written, when there was not a report of a robbery, a rape or a murder printed on the front pages – and each day seemed to bring some new horror to light. The last one had been particularly sickening: a man had imprisoned twelve female teenagers, raping them daily; ten of them were in various stages of pregnancy, and all of them were traumatized by the months they had spent in captivity. In England, while riots and robberies were reported, they were somewhat muted in the face of the events that had taken place eleven months ago: the Rome bombings. Asamu had been there; he and his team had been assigned to accompany two of the Mikage family's members there as they closed a business deal with a law firm when the attacks took place. Asamu had told him that a hotel, three schools, a bus interchange and four restaurants had been bombed. The hotel – the Grand Hyatt – had been the worst. The building had been gutted by the bombs that had been placed strategically throughout the building. The body count had been horrific: over three hundred dead and twice as many injured.

His pen-pal in Malaysia had informed him that several high-ranking police officers and government officials were on trial over alleged corruption charges. Ridiculous, the former had written, as many of those that were being charged in a series of high-profile cases were some of the best government officials that had graced an institution rife with cronyism, corruption and incompetence. Makoto's Malaysian friend had surmised that the whole affair was politically motivated; the enemies of those being charged wanted their rivals discredited and out of the game.

His friend in Australia, a girl, had informed him that things in her country were, likewise, tense. There had been riots in the capital ever since the right-wing One Nation party managed to push its policies through despite heavy opposition from its political rivals and representatives of minority groups in the country. Makoto shook his head inwardly. If there was one thing he agreed with his Australian pen-pal, it was the latter's country would rue the day it allowed the right-wing party to dictate its foreign policy. Lastly, his pen-pal in the Middle East, who was conversant with the subjects that Makoto researched in order to finish his father's works, had informed him that things were heating up in the region. The ongoing peace talks between the Israeli government and the dissident factions was on the verge of falling apart, and the fierce gun-battles between the security apparatus of the former and the militias of the latter was straining whatever efforts that were being made to avert open war.

His father had been right about one thing when it came to humanity: it had the greatest capacity to be inhuman. Makoto could personally attest to that statement. His train of thought was broken when Tokiya shook him, indicating that he should turn down the volume and listen to Okita. Makoto did so, and was surprised by what he heard.

"Well, last but not least, I have some good news. Some of you may have heard the rumors about our school receiving some new transfer students on your way here. Well," Okita pushed up his spectacles, "those rumors are true. One of the two transferring in will be part of our class. I want all of you to make sure that she fits in, all right? She's not from Japan, which is why I'm asking this of you. All right…? Good. You can come in now, Sophia-san."

The entire class fell silent as the door slid open and a beautiful, golden-haired foreigner stepped into the room. Jaws dropped, hearts froze in mid-beat and eyes took in the image of the angel that stood before them. Even Okita, though he had met the girl prior to his introducing her, found himself stumbling. Makoto smiled. It was rare to see Okita flustered and each time it happened was a day worth committing to memory. When he spoke, his voice was shaky and almost inaudible, "Well…ah…I, uh…please introduce yourself to the class, Sophia-san."

The girl nodded respectfully to Okita before bowing to the class in greeting. Her Japanese, when she spoke, was perfectly accented, as if she had lived in the country all of her life, "Good morning, everyone. My name is Sophia Randolph. I look forward to getting to know all of you better."

Sophia's blue eyes met each and every student in the classroom as she spoke, lingering longest on Makoto, whose heart-rate shot through the roof. The warm smile on her lips became playful. Makoto felt his face redden, and turned his attention elsewhere. A soft giggle from the girl told him that he was off the hook, at least for now. Makoto froze, suddenly, as something in his mind fell into place. He had seen Sophia somewhere before…but where?

"Makoto…? Hey, Makoto, you alright…?" an unfamiliar voice spoke. Makoto turned, almost dazed, to face the almost unfamiliar features of his childhood friend. When he finally managed to shake his dazed mind back to coherence, he realized that he had been staring at Tokiya long enough to make her blush.

"Ah? Eh? Yes, what is it?"

Tokiya recovered quickly, "What's the matter with you? You see a pretty girl and you suddenly lose sight of our conversation? You've seen European girls before, haven't you? What's so special about this one?"

'_Just the fact that she is more of a girl than you are,' _Makoto fired a verbal broadside that, had he spoken it aloud, would earn him 27 new rivals to his already long list of rivals (i.e.: his male classmates) and a beating at the hands of one of the most infamous tomboys of his year. Instead, he chose the more sensible option: he asked Tokiya to keep quiet. Unfortunately, Tokiya's leonine pride would not allow her to take Makoto's request lying down.

"Don't tell me to be quiet, Makoto!"

"Do you want Okita to chase you out?" the young man deadpanned, "You're not supposed to be here, you know. Do you want Enishi-sensei to chew you out again?"

"You would love a front-row seat for that, wouldn't you?" Tokiya growled.

"Love it…? Who wouldn't?" Makoto admitted, a smirk on his face, "I can make money selling that seat to people who would love to see you get eaten alive."

Tokiya promptly whacked Makoto, hard, before turning aside with a snort of derision. The latter rubbed his head, the scowl on his face fearsome, "You didn't have to hit so hard, damn it!"

Okita rolled his eyes when he saw the exchange between Makoto and Tokiya. The two lovebirds were at it again. He let out a long breath; the best solution to this particular problem was to ignore. If he got involved, Kami-sama knew what would happen to him. He proceeded to tell the class that Sophia had come to their school as part of a student exchange program. Her selection by her former school had been due to the fact that her parents had been transferred to their company's Japanese branch in Tokyo.

"If it is all right, Sophia-san," Okita cleared his throat, "could you tell us a bit more about yourself?"

The German girl smiled, "Certainly. Before I was selected for the Student Exchange Program, I was studying arts and humanities in a college in Berlin, Germany. I have read much about the history and culture of Japan, and look forward to seeing and experiencing it in person. Firsthand experience is, as they say, better than what is written in a book or what someone tells you. I have also studied the traditions and cultures of other countries and, if you wish, I can tell you about them."

Makoto nodded in approval. Tokiya and Okita looked impressed.

"Well." Okita asked, pushing up his spectacles, "does anyone have any questions to ask our class's newest member? Keep them civil, please."

"What are your hobbies, Sophia-san?" Tokiya asked, breaking the miasma of silent awe that had gripped every soul in the classroom.

"Drawing, reading and writing."

"And what kind of sports do you do?" one of Makoto's female classmates asked.

"Archery, swimming and running."

Upon hearing that, Makoto could not help but run his eyes over the German girl's lithe but curvaceous physique. He suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his head snapped up to see Sophia looking at him, the smile on her lips now playful. She had caught him red-handed. Makoto reddened and cleared his throat before looking away. Tokiya, for her part, was wondering if she could get Sophia to join her Athletics team later on. She had a runner's physique, if one forgave her larger bust size.

"What kind of books do you read, Sophia-san?" this one coming from a Library Club member.

"Let me see…historical novels are my personal favorites, but I don't restrict myself to just that genre alone. I also do read romance, thriller and horror novels from time to time. Though in the last category, there has been one story that has caught my attention. What was it…? Ah yes. The title was 'Circle of the Fallen' by Kusakabe Raiha. It is a trilogy, but the third book has yet to be published."

Time froze.

Heads turned towards Makoto.

Makoto started to wish he never got out of bed.

Okita chuckled.

Sophia laughed behind her hand.

And Tokiya betrayed him in a spectacular fashion, "If you're looking for the person who will finish it, look no further than the idiot sitting next to me! He **will** finish what his father started. Just give him some time…and some _hentai_ manga and anime while you're at it!"

The class erupted in laughter, while some of Makoto's female classmates gave him playful looks of mock-disgust. Makoto glared at Tokiya, "Just for that, you are officially blacklisted for three months! No breakfast bentos for you!"

"Aw, like that threat will scare me!" Tokiya replied, looking down her nose at Makoto.

"It will when Haruka-chan starts asking!" Makoto said. Tokiya started to shiver at that. It was no secret that her younger sister, Marimo Haruka, loved Makoto's cooking. There were times when Haruka came to Tokiya's school in person to ask Makoto to come over to their home to cook for them. It was a far cry from their childhood days. Back then, Haruka had always clung to Makoto more than her sister, treating him like the elder brother she never had. Their parents considered Makoto to be a family friend, often inviting him and his aunt over for family dinners. While her parents would be amused by the blacklisting, Tokiya's younger sister would be less than so. Fortunately, for her, Okita stepped in to save her. The next few words that came out of his mouth made her throw the bespectacled class representative a dirty look and Makoto to shake a fist at him.

"Kusakabe-kun," the bespectacled class-rep said in a professional tone of voice, "please try not to threaten your wife. You don't want to end up in prison, do you?"

It took a while before the class stopped laughing. Okita pushed up his spectacles, grinning impishly at Makoto and Tokiya, before his normally serious expression took over once more. There was one last detail Okita had to see to – and that was finding someone to show Sophia around. He was not going to pick any of the guys: he would bet every last yen in his account that all of them wanted to be the first to hit on the German girl. His best bet would be one of the girls. Now, who should he call upon? He glanced briefly at Sophia, who met his eyes and held it for a brief moment.

Wait…there **was** someone he could trust for the job. Never mind that he was a guy and that his selection would add a lot of names to an already-long list of people who wanted to send him to the local cemetery.

"Oy, Kusakabe-kun," Okita called out to his classmate, who was about to put his earphones back on.

"Yes?"

"I want you to show Sophia-san around. Can you do that?" Okita asked. Makoto had to wait for the vocalization of 23 disappointed guys to die down before he could finally answer.

"I can…but are you sure about this, Okita? You know it is part of our school's regulations to have girls show the new girls around. Why don't you let Mika-san or Eri-san do it? There are some places I am not allowed to enter on pain of death, and you know it."

This time, the laughter was weaker, and voices called out, begging any individual within the room with a wisecrack in his or her mind to withhold it before 33 students were sent to the hospital. Okita raised an eyebrow. Makoto's reply had confirmed one of the questions a female member of the Student Council had asked him days ago when they met in the shopping district. Makoto was still traumatized by Saori-sensei's prank; he refused to come within twenty feet of the girls' changing room, lest he be sent into the pool a second time. Okita, like Tokiya, knew the reasons behind their form teacher's pranks. Saori-sensei cared a lot for Makoto, more than a teacher should. Okita did not care about such things; he knew well enough that both Makoto and Saori-sensei were not so stupid as to ruin each other. The former had no wish for the latter to end up as his ex-girlfriend. Okita's lips curved in a pained, bitter smile. What had happened to Hayase Ruri had been a tragedy, and Makoto's reaction to it had been justified, even if the school board thought otherwise. Okita knew some of the details of what had happened, but did not dare probe deeper. Some things were better left unknown.

"Regardless, Kusakabe-kun," Okita said, pushing the memories to the back of his mind, "You will show Sophia-san around school. Sophia-san, Kusakabe-kun will be your chaperone for today. He has just transferred in from Shokan High two years ago, but is as knowledgeable about the school as I am. If you have any problems, don't hesitate to approach him for help."

Sophia nodded her thanks to Okita and strode towards Makoto, "Pleased to meet you, Kusakabe-kun."

"Y…you, too," the young man stammered as he met Sophia's blue eyes. This close, the warm aura of the German girl washed over him like rays of the sun, causing the ever-present darkness in his heart to shrivel under its warm light.

**(O)**

As the school bell signaled the start of lessons, a girl strode towards the gates of Kyoto High, her long amethyst ponytail swaying in the morning wind. The school's gates were on the verge of closing, and students who had arrived late were having their names taken by a stern-faced female teacher who proceeded to give them a severe scolding before sending them on their way. The girl did not care; the teacher and her colleagues were insects in her eyes. They were no different from the fool she had crushed earlier. Had that idiot not let his lust get the better of him, he would have lived longer and she would not have been late for her first day at school.

The girl's ruby eyes took in the well-maintained buildings before her that made up Kyoto High, and smirked, "Hmmm…so this is the place where it will all begin, the place where my darling waits. And today…" she turned her gaze up to the Church that stood next to the school, the cross on the top of the spire the symbol of the authority of the Creator, "is the beginning of the end of thy reign..."

_**To be continued…**_

* * *

_**Author's afterword:**_

I have to admit that I wished I had visited Kyoto, if only to better understand the layout of the city. I do know that it was the former capital of Japan during its feudal era, prior to the Emperor moving his banner to Tokyo. So thus, I apologize for any discrepancies regarding the city as I allow my imagination to run riot. Now, time to explain myself. Why did I choose to write this entire story a second time?

Simple – the first time was a mess. It was an interesting mess, I can admit, but a mess all the same. I have taken out my hammer, chisels and have a blue-print to ensure that I don't turn the statue of a goddess into rubble half-way through. Most of the (main) characters you see will still be here, the ideas will remain the same, but the story, as a whole, will be tidier.

I hope to my first foray into the horror genre as good as I can give it.

1)Shinai – Japanese bamboo sword. Used in kendo practice.

_2)Men, kote_ and _do_ – Head, glove and torso areas struck in kendo. All three are protected.

_3)Megitsune –_ Fox woman. Used to describe girls/women who love playing pranks, hatch plots, and leave you flummoxed, in hot water and wishing you had brought a gun (or at least, a blunt instrument). If it means something vulgar, I apologize and will change it immediately.

_**Character Profiles**_

**Note: **Character profiles are based on the D20 system. I will include a segment for guns in the next chapter.

_**Kusakabe Makoto, Kyoto High School student (Level 3)**_

_**Ability scores: **_Str 14 (+2); Dex 16 (+3); Con 14 (+2); Wis 12 (+1); Int 14 (+2); Cha 13 (+1)

_**HP: **_24

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 3 (Dex. Modifier) + 2 (Kendo Armor); Use 13 as basic A.C.; Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_6 (2 + 4 from Improved Initiative feat)

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+1

(Defense option character)

_**Fortitude: **_1 + 2 (con. Modifier)

_**Reflex:**_ 3 + 3 (Dex. modifier)

_**Will: **_3 +1 (Wis. Modifier)

_**Melee: **_

Unarmed 3

Bokuto 3 + 1D4

Katana 3 + 1D8

_**Feats: **_

Improved Initiative: +4 on Initiative checks

Endurance: +4 bonus to checks involving physical exertion of any kind or to resist fatigue.

Athletic: +2 to any Climb or Jump checks

Toughness: +3 HP to maximum total

_**Skills:**_

Computer Use: 3 (+2); Int

Concentration: 5 (+2); Con

Gather Info: 4 (+1); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 4 (+2); Int

Knowledge (Occult): 4 (+2); Int

Knowledge (Theology): 3 (+2); Int

Research: 5 (+2); Int

Sense motive: 4 (+1); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 6 (+2); Int

Balance: 5 (+3); Dex

Craft (Writing): 6 (+2); Int

Tumble: 5 (+3); Dex

Speak other Languages (Chinese): 3 (+2); Int

_**Description:**_ Kusakabe Makoto is a lean, well-built young man of 16 to 17 years with brown hair and grey eyes. His father was a foreigner – which explains the reason why he has grey eyes – and his mother was a Japanese girl born and raised in the Kyoto district. Makoto's back bears horrific scars from the beating he had endured long ago by the hands of the Mikage family patriarch; he is extremely conscious of them, and is aware that should anyone see them, they would raise (awkward) questions as to how he got them.

_**Marimo Tokiya, Kyoto High School student, vice-class representative of 2-4 (Level 3)**_

_**Ability scores: **_Str 12 (+1); Dex 12 (+1); Con 14 (+2); Wis 12 (+1); Int 13 (+1); Cha 13 (+1)

_**HP: **_17

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 1 (Dex. Modifier) ; Flat footed 10

_**Initiative: **_1

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+1

(Defense option character)

_**Fortitude: **_1 + 2 (con. Modifier)

_**Reflex:**_ 3 + 1 (Dex. modifier)

_**Will: **_3 +1 (Wis. Modifier)

_**Melee: **_

Unarmed 2

Switchblade 2 + 1D3

_**Feats:**_

Athletic: +2 to any Climb or Jump checks

Trustworthy: +2 bonus to all Diplomacy and Gather Info checks

Run: Speed is 5 times normal speed (150 feet per round for most characters); if character makes a running jump, increase height or distance cleared by 1 / 4, but not past the maximum.

_**Skills:**_

Computer Use: 4 (+1); Int

Concentration: 4(+2); Con

Gather Info: 4 (+1); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 6 (+1); Int

Knowledge (Cooking): 5 (+1); Int

Knowledge (Accounting): 5 (+1); Int

Research: 5 (+1); Int

Sense motive: 5 (+1); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 5 (+1); Int

Balance: 4 (+2); Dex

Diplomacy: 5 (+1); Cha

Intimidate: 5 (+1); Cha

Swim: 3 (+1); Str – 2 points per skill point.

_**Description: **_Marimo Tokiya is an athletic – and tomboyish – 17 year-old girl with amber eyes and short brown hair. She is the vice-class rep of 2-4 and is the captain of Kyoto High's athletic club. She is lively and playful, but takes her responsibilities seriously. Loves karaoke and her little sister; hopes to be Makoto's bride someday. Extroverted and expressive. Loves shopping also.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Yuko Sanyo/ Shizuka Hayame/ Sahaka Mikage**_

_**Kagoshima Saori/ Hayashi Ayame**_

_No man is an island._

_We are surrounded by people, and each of them has a story to tell._

_And some stories are darker than others._

_- Cardinal Wesley Galahan, former captain of the Order of St. Michael._

_**(O)**_

_**Kyoto City – Kyoto High School, Japan, 6th September 1999, 0830 hrs **_

Sanyo Yuko had worked as a teacher in Kyoto High for two years and had, within that time, attained a reputation amongst the student body for being one of the strictest teachers in the school. At 23 years of age, she was also one of the youngest. An accomplished martial artist with medals to her name, she was appointed the chief instructor of the school's martial arts club within days of being employed. Yuko was also responsible for teaching Japanese literature – which the blue-haired young woman loved with a passion – and P.E. Her peers in the staff room respected Yuko for her dedication and focus, but disapproved of the way she dealt with the students.

Corporal punishment was to be used only as a last resort, they told her. Yuko disagreed: using such methods was the only way to keep the rowdier students in line. Her parents had not hesitated to spare the rod, and look at where she was now. Even though they had not said it out loud, their pride was evident every time they looked at their youngest daughter. Of her four siblings, she was the only one who had made it good. Kami-sama knows what happened to her two older twin sisters; the last time she had heard from them was over a year ago, and they had been with their boyfriends then. Her sisters had, then and in no uncertain terms, told their youngest sibling what they had been up to – and what she was missing. It had taken the young teacher all of her considerable self-control to not lose her temper at the way her older sisters were living their lives. Their brother, the third child of the family and barely a year older than Yuko, was at least trying to be a respectable member of society. Being a construction worker was hard work, but it suited him. Her brother was good with his hands, and had an almost intuitive understanding of how machines worked. But he, like Yuko's elder sisters, delighted in sampling the pleasures modern society had to offer. While he did not go to the extremes as her sisters did, Yuko nonetheless found it hard to approve of them.

Enishi-sensei had often complained of the subtle, but swiftly spreading, cancer that was slowly eating away at the fabric of Japanese society. It was a cancer, the older teacher had added, that was spread by the _gaijin_ and their liberal ways – ways that were anathema to traditions stretching back centuries. Yuko agreed with the older woman but, unlike the latter, was far more accepting of western culture. It was unavoidable in an age where the media and the internet made the world a smaller place.

Today, Yuko-sensei had been informed that two foreign students – both girls – would be transferring into Kyoto High. The school principal had informed her to not take them to task, a subtle (if not barbed) reminder of what had happened the first time she had tried to put Kusakabe Makoto in his place. Yuko had never been more humiliated in all her life than that very moment; with a single blow, a boy five years her junior had beaten her. For a woman who had taken punches and kicks from some of the rougher characters both in and out of school, it had been a bitter pill to swallow. Yuko fought back a shudder, remembering the incident a year back that had almost gotten the boy expelled. She remembered the broken, bloodied bodies that surrounded Makoto, remembered the insane rage in his grey eyes. She remembered, to her shame, freezing in terror when their eyes met.

And she remembered how the school's kendo team captain, Mikage Kasumi, had rushed out to subdue her cousin before he dug his grave deeper than it already was. It was then that Yuko found just how deadly Makoto was when he threw caution and conscience to the wind. Kasumi had been proficient not only in kendo, but in aikido and kenjutsu as well. She saw a battle that was not choreographed; she saw a battle with one's life on the line. Kasumi had been lucky; she had managed to penetrate the red haze that had sent her cousin's self-control to Mars – and that moment of hesitation had been all the girl had needed. Three hard strikes of her _bokuto_ and Makoto went down.

Yuko shook her head, watching as one of her colleagues, Mizoguchi-sensei, berated one of the late-comers before sending him on his way with a slap up the head and detention for a week. The older teacher shook his head in mock-despair, a woebegone look on his face, as he approached her, "There are times I wish I had taken up my brother's offer to work in his company in Kyushu. I could definitely use a change in work environment."

"Why didn't you?" Yuko asked, "It would most certainly pay better."

"It does. And believe me, I've considered it," Mizoguchi ran a hand through his dark hair, "But doing so would mean that there would be no one to take care of our parents. And I cannot help but worry about them. Besides," a childish grin curved the older man's lips, "my dad's cooking is one of the reasons why I said no in the first place – and why my mom married him in the first place. She's been trying to beat him in the kitchen for over twenty years, and she's nowhere close to winning."

Yuko rolled her eyes. It was hard to believe that her colleague was almost forty years old; she had lost count of the number of times when the older man acted as if he was out of junior high – or out of a juvenile detention centre. She had seen the looks of acknowledgement and respectful nods that some of the younger – and some of the older ones as well – _yakuza_ threw Mizoguchi's way. Rumor had it that Mizoguchi had been a gangster in his younger days; he turned over a new leaf after a particularly bloody crack-down by an unknown vigilante that had left over three hundred of the city's underworld gangs dead. Mizoguchi's _irezumi_ (1) was hidden well under his long-sleeved shirt, trousers and jacket; he was understandably shy of showing off the tattoos that was a constant reminder of the past he had left behind. And the fact that there were times when Yuko saw Mizoguchi and the _oyabun_ (2) of the Kamishirou-gumi having lunch or dinner together lent weight to those rumors; it was clear to Yuko that the two were good friends.

"What about you, Mizoguchi-san? Can you cook?" Yuko asked.

The other man nodded, "My specialty is Southeast Asian cuisine. If you've taken the chance to visit countries like Malaysia or Singapore, the confluence of cultures there gives rise to some very interesting – and tasty – dishes. I will warn you, though: the people there love spicy dishes."

"How spicy…?"

"Very," Mizoguchi replied, grinning, "If I've interested you…"

"I'll pass, Mizoguchi. I'm not going to…" and Yuko paused as she saw an unfamiliar face in the uniform of Kyoto High walk through the school's front gates. This, then, was the foreign transfer student the school principal had told her about. Mizoguchi followed her gaze, and he whistled appreciatively, "She looks better in person. Maybe I should…"

"That's my job, Mizoguchi," Yuko walked past her colleague, "You wouldn't want a reputation for hitting on girls more than half your age, would you?"

Mizoguchi raised an eyebrow, surprised. Stern, feisty Yuko-chan has cracked a joke. The older man expected a pig to fly by anytime soon.

**(O)**

Yuko disliked the new transfer student almost immediately. There was none of the contrition she was used in seeing in the eyes of those who knew they were in the wrong. Instead, the girl's ruby eyes and the mocking curve of her lips seemed to infuriate the young teacher further. The regal, almost arrogant, tilt to her chin and the way she carried herself told Yuko that the new transfer student most likely came from a well-to-do family. There was strength and power in the girl's sleek, curvaceous form, and the grace in which she moved told Yuko that the transfer student was an accomplished martial artist.

But, there was something else about the amethyst-haired girl that rubbed the young, conservative teacher the wrong way: the girl radiated the sensuous aura of one who was comfortable with the very things that the latter was uneasy with. The way she smirked at some of the male students they passed by only served to reinforce her conclusion regarding the girl's chastity. It was unbelievable that no few girls – even those younger than Yuko – would give so freely the one thing that they should preserve for the men they would marry latter in life.

"Is this really necessary, Yuko-san?" the girl asked.

"It is," Yuko replied, "It is standard procedure for students that transfer in to have a medical check-up before they are sent to their assigned classes. I will leave you with our school nurse, and have the class's representative come pick you up."

The amethyst-haired girl hummed, pausing briefly as they strode past a dark-haired girl with golden-brown eyes, before continuing on, "That one looks like she should be in college. Who is she?"

"You are quite observant, Lilith-san. The girl that we just walked past was Hayame Shizuka-san," Yuko replied, "She works as a nun in the Church next to the school, and is the oldest student in her year. She's mature for her age. I only wish…"

"That everyone you know acts like her?" the German girl finished, "Courteous, demure and docile, like sheep?"

Yuko frowned at the obvious disdain the foreign girl had of Shizuka – and of her values. The young teacher bit back an angry retort, "You could pick up some pointers from the girl, you know. Kami-sama knows that it will help you fit in better. If you don't, your stay here will be very miserable." _Especially since you will be under Enishi-sensei_, the young teacher added wordlessly, unable to suppress the glee at the image of the arrogant, _gaijin_ girl taken down a peg by the irascible teacher.

"I will have no problems fitting in, Yuko-sensei," Lilith replied, smirking, as they came to a stop outside the sick bay, "And fear not. I am more than capable of dealing with individuals who are as quick-tempered as my future homeroom teacher or who possess an overabundance of pride…"

Lilith slid open the door and stepped into the sick bay, "Though, at least, you have reason to be."

Yuko was unable to answer, momentarily wrong-footed by the girl's wordplay and the disturbing fact that the latter had somehow read her mind. Before she could reply, the door had already slid shut to the tune of Wagner's 'The Valkyrie' (3).

**(O)**

Shizuka Hayame had lived and worked in the Church of the Blessed Mother ever since her parents died over a decade ago. The Church's Mother Superior, Melissa Chan, her father's classmate and childhood friend, had taken her in within days of the accident and raised the girl like her own daughter – an act Shizuka was grateful for. Though ordained as a nun only three years ago, Mother Melissa had made it clear that if she should one day choose to return to the life of a normal girl, all she needed to do was ask.

To devote one's life to God's word and will was to renounce the freedom of choice that others had, the Mother Superior had told her. And, for a girl as young as her to make a decision without understanding what it was she was giving up made the older woman melancholic. She loved her father, Melissa had told Shizuka, and had been his first love before being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Because of that, she could not have children – something she hoped Shizuka would have (and love) someday.

The thought of having children had made Shizuka blush. She loved children but was uncomfortable with the act that would lead to their creation. It was something most other girls in both the junior and senior years had little problem talking about, even if it led to matters that was best discussed behind closed doors. Though sheltered compared to her schoolmates, Shizuka's keen sense of observation had allowed her to learn about the darker underbelly of society that some of her classmates were part of. It had taken her a while to find out the reasons why. The degeneration of morals and ethics in Japan was due to its desire to become an economic powerhouse; children were left without the guidance of their parents and, as a result, lived their lives as they wished. As a result, most of them viewed the opinions of their friends in higher regard than those of their parents. This, Shizuka thought sadly, was because familial ties were not as treasured as it used to be. The extreme end of the spectrum was that some of her schoolmates did not have the acceptance or love of their parents, who were more interested in making money than in the welfare of their children. Because of this, they sought it elsewhere. (4)

She was aware that some of the girls in school had multiple partners – or were cheating on the ones they purported to be in love with. While Shizuka had conservative views of love and marriage, she was not about to go imposing her beliefs on them in the way Yuko-sensei or Enishi-sensei did. Alienating the listener often meant that the message the speaker wishes to impart would go unheard. Shizuka had, instead, utilized a tactic that the Mother Superior used often: persuasion. It had taken Shizuka some time to master it, but using that method had allowed the young nun to speak her mind, and not be alienated by (or lose her standing among) her schoolmates. And some of them had been convinced by the young nun.

One of the girls, Tomoe Hisako, who was a member of Tokiya-chan's Athletic Team and her friend, had explained to Shizuka that the reason that some girls sleep around was mainly due to one of three reasons: the first was to lift their social standing; the second was because they enjoyed the sensations that came with sex; the third was to get money to buy the latest fashions. Tomoe did not hide the fact that she enjoyed sex, and that she sometimes had guys pay for the service. And besides, there were no shortage of guys who liked bad girls, Tomoe had pointed out with a lecherous grin.

As Shizuka turned a corner, she saw Yuko-sensei escorting a beautiful female student. So this was the transfer student that Tokiya had been talking about. The girl was lean but curvaceous, her long gleaming silver-amethyst hair gleaming in the sunlight. There was a smirk on her face and a swagger in her walk that Shizuka had seen in many of the girls she counseled. The young nun sighed inwardly. There was no doubt in her mind that the girl walking towards her was a rebel who lived by no one's rules save her own. As the girl came closer, Shizuka saw the girl's strange, ruby eyes fix on her. The arrogant smirk on the latter's face became one full of malice; the young nun swallowed – the hate-filled look in the girl's gaze was capable of twisting steel. A scent, faint to the point of undetectable, assailed her olfactory senses. It took a while before she recognized it: it was the sweet scent of burning flesh – she would never forget that smell after her parents were cremated – mingled with the fragrance of freshly-cut roses.

It was the scent of temptation and ruin – and the source of the smell was the transfer student Yuko-sensei was escorting. Who was this girl? No. The correct question was not who she was, but what. Impossible as it was to even think it, Shizuka sensed that this girl was not human – and that the latter knew it. As they stepped past each other, the girl spoke in a language that Shizuka did not comprehend but somehow understood.

"_It has already begun, Messian."_

Shizuka watched the girl's departing back, the discomfort that assailed her earlier fading with every step the latter took.

**(O)**

Life was good, Mikage Sahaka thought, when one was the son of a powerful and wealthy family whose existence had dated back centuries. Everything he wanted was there for the asking – or for the taking. He looked at his gang, who lounged around, smoking or exchanging stories of their exploits. Sahaka leaned back, one arm snaking around his latest conquest, stroking the curve of her breasts that were revealed by her unbuttoned blouse. The girl turned towards him and grinned, cocking an eyebrow that dared Sahaka to go further.

Not that, the young man thought, it would stop him. And besides, his friends would most likely enjoy the show. His technique was better than theirs, after all. Why else would most girls who went to bed with him ask for a second round? What was the girl's name? Maya…? Yuna…? Mari…? Sahaka frowned, the last name causing a bitter taste to well up in his mouth and the same nameless, primordial fear to claw its way out from the shallow grave from which it had been buried. The Mikage scion was not one easily frightened, but that day a year ago had taught him the true meaning of fear. It did not take Sahaka much effort to remember the events that had led up to that day.

Hayase Ruri had been one of the more popular girls in Kyoto High. Beautiful and athletic, she had been the star swimmer of the school team, and whose playful smirk could turn a man's blood to steam. But, unlike most girls Sahaka knew, Ruri wasn't easy. Expensive gifts and the promise of an elevation in social status did not even cause her to bat an eyelid. What she wanted, she found in that loser of a cousin of his, and it was one returned tenfold. Sahaka's attempts had been rebuffed time and time again, until one of his newer gang members found a way to worm his way into the Mikage scion's good graces: she would sell out her friend. That girl had gotten Ruri drunk after a girl's night out and taken her to the love hotel where Sahaka and his friends took turns fucking her. Sahaka remembered the strangled moan that left Ruri's lips as he popped her cherry, as he slammed his thick penis into her cervix again and again, until he filled her womb with his seed. He remembered looking down upon Ruri's abused, semen-covered body and at the apex of her thighs where the thick, viscous fluids worth of five guys' semen mixed with the girl's virginal blood.

Sahaka remembered how Ruri had changed after that day. Gone was the outgoing girl before, and in her place was one both quiet and introverted. She had quit the Swimming Team days later, much to the disappointment and consternation of the coach and her team-mates. He remembered the way she had looked at him; it was the look a chicken would have when it realized that a fox had gotten into the coop. The way Ruri had reacted around him and his friends soon aroused Makoto's suspicion, and the rumors he had heard soon prompted Sahaka's cousin to investigate. Makoto was not stupid; he put the pieces together in less than a week – and went to a towering rage in less than a second.

The green-eyed Mikage scion remembered the carnage his cousin had left in his wake as he tore up the school looking for him. Makoto had been indiscriminate in his hunt, ruthless in a manner that would have put the _yakuza_ to shame. Whether or not they had been involved in the act of raping Ruri, as long as they were part of Sahaka's inner circle or were members of his gang, they were targets. Sahaka's friends in America had called such people who had gone berserk as having gone postal. Most Americans who went postal did so with a **gun**. Makoto went postal with a _bokuto_ – and left just as bad a mess. Had his third cousin, Kasumi, not stopped Makoto, Sahaka did not doubt that that day would have been his last on earth. That one brief moment of hesitation on the second's part gave the first all the opening she needed to take him down. Sahaka – and what was left of his gang – had attempted to take care of matters then, but Kasumi had turned her _bokuto_ on them instead, the gleam in her golden eyes venomous. It was a silent warning for Sahaka to leave – and leave quickly – or to suffer the same fate as those Makoto had beaten within a footstep of the ferry.

That incident had almost cost Makoto's place in the school, and all but dragged the Mikage name (for that brief moment of time) through the dirt. Sahaka's father, Mikage Yoshi, had been furious. He explained that he had to buy the silence of the Hayase family (among other things) in order to ensure that the family name was not sullied further and had to apologize to the family he had wronged. The older man had also put his foot down; Sahaka would be ferried to and from school, so as to avoid a repeat of what his father called the 'Ruri Incident'. Fortunately, his father was hardly ever in the country and the servants that were tasked to watch over him were in his pocket; they did not care who he brought into his apartment, as long as he kept his 'activities' discrete.

"What's wrong, Sa-kun? You look…angry," the girl beside him said.

Sahaka chuckled and shook his head, "Nothing. Just thinking about how boring this semester is going to be…"

"Not as boring as I think it will be, boss," one of his gang members said, "I got a call and some pictures sent from Machida-kun in class 2-4. He tells me that there are two new students transferring in today."

Sahaka looked up, an interested expression on his face, "Who are they? Where did they come from?"

"This is the good part, boss…" and he raised the hand-phone, which had a camera function built into its slender frame, to Sahaka's face, "Both of them are girls. Both of them are foreigners. And both of them are bloody gorgeous."

**(O)**

Lilith raked an appreciative eye over the lush, strong body of the school doctor, even as she nodded inwardly in approval at the younger woman's (5) strength of character. It showed in the latter's fiery-cored radiance, shrouding her lean frame like folded wings. With the black low-cut, body-hugging dress she wore beneath her white doctor's coat, Megumi Yuki was the image of a bad girl who made good. The cross-shaped ear-rings the female doctor wore reinforced the 'bad girl' image she was reluctant to put aside.

Megumi, unaware of the other girl's scrutiny, ran a hand through her long, violet locks as she studied the second transfer student's medical records, sent by the latter's school in northern Germany, with a practiced eye before proceeding to transcribe the information there to her computer. The female school doctor was impressed with what she saw. Like Sophia, the amethyst-haired girl was athletic, though the latter's preference in sports were clearly geared towards combat. Megumi felt a kindred spirit in Lilith, but sensed that she was way out of the girl's league. Something about the latter spoke of extremes; the glint of near-madness she saw flicker in Lilith's crimson eyes was disturbing. This one would, to take a quote out of the book Makoto's father had written, fight and fuck with equal abandon.

There was no doubt in Megumi's mind that the German _fraulein_ sitting behind her would get into Enishi-sensei's bad books for no other reason than being a hated foreigner. Best to warn her, all the same; dealing with a hot-tempered and proud Sanyo Yuko was different from dealing with a xenophobic Enishi Honda. The female doctor saved the document on her computer before printing it out.

"A friendly word of advice, Lilith-san," Megumi spoke as she retrieved and stapled the newly-printed documents together, "I heard what you said earlier to Yuko-sensei," _and while I can almost applaud you for your guts, _"but there is an old saying that states that pride goes before a fall. And believe me when I say that your homeroom teacher is capable of making that fall a painful,"_ and humiliating, _"one."

"I've taken worse falls than the one that old bat," Megumi laughed upon hearing that, "can give me. But I will keep what you said in mind, Megumi-sensei. I may be proud and hot-tempered, but careless and stupid I am not. But, correct me if I'm wrong but is Enishi-sensei's full name Enishi Honda?"

"Yes, it is. Why…?"

Lilith shook her head, "Oh, nothing. Just that the name is similar to that of a girl I was once acquainted with."_'A girl_,_'_ the amethyst-haired girl added mentally, smiling inwardly_, 'whom I met forty years ago – and who played with fire.' _"Are you going to take me to my class, sensei?"

"I'm sorry, no. That responsibility will fall to the vice-class representative. I have to return your file to the main office – and meet with the school principal. Now where is that girl? She should have been here long ago," Megumi looked at the clock, "What's keeping her?"

"Enishi-sensei, maybe…?" Lilith asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Megumi rubbed her temples, but before she could answer, the door slid open, and the lithe form of Marimo Tokiya, vice-class representative of Class 4 of the second year, stepped in.

"What took you so long, Tokiya-chan?" Megumi asked, "You're normally not…oh, wait…let me guess. She had you do her work again, right?"

"How did you guess?" the brown-haired girl asked.

"You look quite ready to kill someone if they looked at you the wrong way," the school doctor replied, "But, that aside, Tokiya-san, I'd like you to meet the newest member of your class: Lilith Arikel-san. Lilith, this feisty girl who is many times better than Yuko-sensei," the brown-haired girl fired Megumi a look that could have melted concrete, "is Marimo Tokiya-san. She is your vice-class representative. Feel free to torment her to your heart's content."

Lilith's grin would have put a lioness's to shame.

"I hate you, Megumi-san," Tokiya said, icy mirth in her tone.

**(O)**

Kagoshima Saori sat back down at her desk, amused and pleased at the events that had taken place just an hour ago. It had been a long time since she had seen Makoto so flustered and shy in the presence of a girl he clearly was attracted to. Saori, seeing the chance to have her morning dose of fun, pounced on Makoto like a cat would a mouse, and had proceeded to ask when the marriage invitations would be sent out. The class teased Makoto mercilessly, and twisted the knife by asking a smiling Sophia to take care of their class's premier troublemaker.

Sophia's reply had left half the class in fits, a third blushing at the perceived sexual innuendo in it, and the remainder exchanging thoughtful looks – looks that caused Saori to quickly release the headlock she had had Makoto in. The knowing look that the German girl had given her had made the young teacher self-conscious, and drove home the fact that she was treading in dangerous waters. That gesture of playful affection could easily be misconstrued as a gesture of **genuine** affection – and bring the wrath of the school board crashing down on her head. But, the look had nonetheless left Saori confused. There had been neither malice nor jealousy in Sophia's gaze, and the honest, open smile on her lips was somehow…thankful?

It was hard for Saori to miss the fond looks the lovely German girl threw in Makoto's direction. Despite it being their first meeting, it was as if the second knew the last for years, knew his flaws, and loved him all the more because of it. The young teacher turned to look out her window at the gardens below. The way the sakura petals wafted gently in the wind, covering the brick pavement in a carpet of pink and light crimson, brought back memories of her childhood. It was not so long ago that Saori had been a student herself, not so long ago that – like many of them – been in love. Saori had to admit that, while the relationship between her boyfriend and her had been short, it had been fulfilling. They parted ways amicably, each promising the other to make good of their lives. Last she heard of him, he was already married to a French woman and was looking forward to the birth of his first-born. Saori sighed; her parents were determined to ensure that their daughter would follow in her ex-boyfriend's footsteps.

She shook her head, remembering the perverted grin on her father's face, and the playful remark that had gotten him a bop on the heard by his wife, who went on to say that whichever man Saori chose to marry, he couldn't be as bad as the pervert of a husband she had married over two decades ago. Her father had deadpanned that if her mother had not enjoyed it so much, they would not be blessed with three lovely daughters – more, he had added, had age not caught up with them. Her mother, mortified (yet laughing), had whacked her husband a second time.

Saori laughed; yes, that was the vision of the future the young teacher hoped to make real.

"You are in a good mood today, Saori-chan," a familiar voice spoke, breaking the young teacher out of her train of thought, "I take it your holiday had been a good one? Care to share?"

Standing next to Saori's desk was the school principal, Hayashi Ayame, whose radiant expression was a far cry from the sober expression the young teacher had grown familiar with in the time she had worked in Kyoto High. It was as if the older woman had found something she had lost long ago. The school principal was no longer as austerely dressed as before, and her long, dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in thick, gleaming locks. Saori shot to her feet, mortified to have been caught day-dreaming by her boss, but the latter put a firm hand to her shoulder and gently pushed the former back into her seat.

"Don't worry," the principal laughed, "I'm not here to bite your head off. I came by hoping to find someone to have a chat with. Do you have time, Saori-chan?"

The brown-haired teacher looked at her schedule, "I have an hour, at least."

"Perfect. So tell me, how was your trip to America?"

**(O)**

Hayashi Ayame, headmistress of Kyoto High, was 33 years old and had been married for 10 years. The marriage had been arranged by her parents at the behest of the Mikage family (who was the Hayashi family's Head House) to a man who was twelve years her senior. It was a loveless marriage that had left Ayame with two young children – one seven and the other five – who rarely saw their father and responsibilities she could not walk out on. She had long been aware of her husband's affairs, but had chosen to turn a blind eye to them. In the eyes of the community, they were a stable, happy family.

But, deep inside, Ayame longed to be free again. She would have sold her soul to have the things she was forced to give up long ago. And for ten long, painful years, wishing was all Ayame could do. Until two months ago; she smiled inwardly, remembering the handsome, foreign man who had come into her life. Ayame's mother had warned her about men with silver tongues when she had been a teenager, but this was the first time she had ever met one as witty and humorous as Areil Arikel.

Nor had she met a man as sympathetic – or as knowledgeable of – her problems as him. Every time they met, Areil would tell her stories and recite poems that not only took her mind off her problems but which re-invigorated her tired soul and, indirectly, provided her with solutions to her many problems. Some of the stories and theories Areil-san had discussed with her over the course of their many meetings had eerie similarities to that which had been written into a series of novels by Kusakabe Reiha, the father of one of her students who was related to the Mikage family by marriage. He had written many novels, but his finest work was the bestselling _Circle of the Fallen _series that had sold over 12 million copies worldwide – and left the major religious institutions of the Messianic religions up in arms.

Ayame, having read through the books, could see why: the series painted the Christian Church and its brother religions in the worst possible way, and reduced the sacred mythos that formed the guiding principles of its doctrines into a morass of ridiculous contradictions; principles, Reiha had pointed out, that were created by men who reveled in the subjugation of others. It drove home the fact that the moral dry-rot, hypocrisy and corruption that had plagued religious institutions for centuries were problems that had pre-dated the coming of the three monotheistic religions. While the moderates of the three religions rebutted the author's accusations (and pointed out that his works were fiction), their extremist brethren were driven to punish anyone who owned the books and levied a price on the head of the man they claimed to be an enemy of God. When news reached their ears of his death, the wild celebrations they held in the streets offended many. Here, some had said, is the worst excess of the faithful.

The school principal remembered the harsh words spoken by one of the characters in the fourth book of the series, which had been set in the Fourth Crusade when Constantinople was sacked by the Crusaders and which history – and the Pope of that era – had deemed a fiasco. His was the voice of those without power, hated and hunted by an institution that spoke of love without understanding what it was. What was that character's name? Yes…that was it: Ramza Beowulf (6). He was one of the two illegitimate children sired by a revered noble, and whose fall from grace was as breathtaking as it was tragic.

Ayame had, on a whim, introduced the first book of the series to Areil. Within days, he had purchased every book there was, and had been caught red-handed reading the third book of the series when they met days later. And that was when Ayame had taken their relationship a step further; she had had enough of her husband's infidelity. She was, in his eyes, an object and not a human being. And when they rested in the afterglow of coitus, Areil started asking about Makoto and his relationship to the Mikage family. She did not have the answers to all his questions, but she was determined to get them.

And that was why she would get them from the one person her nephew (if Makoto could be considered that) trusted – his teacher, Kagoshima Saori. She smiled inwardly. Saori was guilty of a trespass as great a magnitude as hers. Though the younger woman had yet to step over the line, it was only a matter of time before she did. And Ayame's gut instinct told her that her younger counterpart would not regret the decision one bit; the latter had her eyes fixed firmly on her future. The dark-haired woman closed her eyes. Had she been like Saori, maybe, just maybe, things would have been different.

**(O)**

Tokiya Marimo studied her new classmate from the corner of her eye as the two of them made their way to their classroom. The brown-haired girl could not help but admire the way Lilith carried herself. Gone was the playful, condescending manner that the German girl had displayed earlier; in its place was a stern austerity Tokiya had seen only in her uncle who worked as an officer in the JSSDF. The condescension in her eyes had taken a harder edge; earlier, it had been playful, but now there was a sharp edge that could cut concrete. The German girl started asking questions regarding the school's curriculum, which teachers were in charge of what lesson, the clubs in school and its more interesting characters.

By the time the two girls had reached the doors of their classroom, the German girl was, more or less, ready for her life in Kyoto High. At least, that was what Tokiya hoped. She turned to face Lilith, "Well, Lilith-san. Here we are – Class 4 of Year 2. I hope you're ready to meet your new classmates. Fair warning, though: the boys can be a rowdy bunch, especially when they see a girl as beautiful as you."

Lilith raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"Believe it. Come on," Tokiya said as she slid the door open and led the way in. After a brief moment of silence, the male half of the class erupted into an uproar of cheers and wolf-whistles, causing Tokiya to put her fingers to her temples and pray that Enishi-sensei was nowhere nearby. If she was, there would be hell to pay. And Tokiya would sure make the boys paid with interest. Tokiya opened her eyes to see that many of her female peers were staring at Lilith with varying degrees of interest; a good number nodded to the German girl in welcome, the rest viewed her with varying degrees of distrust and distaste. The latter were a minority, something Tokiya was thankful for. Kami-sama knows that it would not be pleasant if their new classmate started a fight with some of the class's resident bitches.

And Tokiya knew from experience that some of them were nothing more than parasites who leeched off their parents' incomes and who cared for nothing more than their social standing and the way they were seen in the eyes of others. They suddenly averted their eyes, causing the brown-haired girl to look over her shoulder at Lilith. The latter's ruby eyes were cool and unruffled, but the smirk that curved her lips conveyed an unspoken challenge to them to dare cross over the line she had drawn in the sand.

Tokiya waited for the cheers and wolf-whistles to die down before she spoke, "I really hope Enishi-sensei did not hear us. Otherwise, we're all going to spend our first day back to school in detention!"

The class fell silent instantly. Those who have felt the wrath of their form teacher swallowed hard; Enishi-sensei never believed in sparing the rod and the harsh remark. Nonetheless, with a new face in the class, they hoped that (if she did hear) she would be lenient and let it pass.

"Everyone," Tokiya continued, "I would like you to meet our newest classmate from Germany. She will be with us until the end of next year. Lilith-san, if you please?"

The German girl nodded and stepped forward, her ruby eyes studying each and every soul in the room. She smiled at some, nodded at others, and dismissed the rest. One of them, however, was staring at her with an expression that Lilith had seen in the gangster she had murdered some two hours ago. Lust and desire had turned his aura to a shade of crimson that put those of his peers to shame. Lilith glanced at her would-be stalker; he was plain and unassuming, but the cold, calculated cunning in his eyes was one even she could respect. Unlike the gangster, this one would use subtler methods… but his end would be the same. Or, maybe several shades more agonizing.

Even as she introduced herself in perfectly accented Japanese to the rest of the class, she took delight at the thoughts that ran through her mind, each darker than the last. There was still time enough to lure many of her classmates down roads they would never have embraced prior to her coming. A glorious age was coming, and only those worthy of living in it would be spared the purging fires of the underworld that would scour Creation clean of the Great Lie that was crafted by a heartless tyrant.

And she was the one chosen out of so many to finally turn the rusted cogs of destiny to its inevitable conclusion.

_**To be continued…**_

**Author's afterword:**

Ah, finally done! This can be considered Chapter 1.5, a prelude to the second chapter, and a good place for me to introduce more of the characters in Angel Halo. I hope I have portrayed the characters believably, and I hope you will stay with me (and give me suggestions, if you have some) till I finish this story. I will repost Chapter 1 in the near future to include the character profile for Mikage Saya, Makoto's aunt, as well as those for Asamu and company.

_1) Irezumi_ – full-body tattoos; they are (still) associated with Japanese underworld figures who receive them during their initiation rites. (Asian Geographic, Issue 9/2008)

_2) Oyabun_ – the equivalent of a mafia gang boss.

3) Okay, I might be wrong here, so correct me if I'm wrong. I'm bad when it comes to identifying classical composers and their works.

4) The reference for this paragraph came from Fujiwara Kaoru's article "The World according to Japanese Teenagers: The other side of Enjo-Kosai" from Compass Online (1998-1999).

5) For those who followed the first draft of my story, you can understand why I had Lilith view Megumi-sensei as a younger woman; the former is, after all, a rebel angel who fought against God and His Army in the earliest days of (unrecorded) history.

6) Ramza Beowulf is the pseudonym of Ramza Beoulve, hero of Final Fantasy Tactics. Bringing him into this story of mine serves my (sinister) purposes. Ha ha ha…

The next segment is the character profiles segment. If you intend to play a game surrounding this story, feel free to use this – but adding/removing skills and feats are up to the GM (as is the overall storyline). If I have made some mistakes in my D20 character profiles, please feel free to correct them.

**Character profiles:**

_**Yuko Sanyo, Kyoto High School teacher **_(Level 6 character/civilian)

_**Attributes:**_ Str 15 (+2), Dex 15 (+2), Con 14 (+2), Wis 13 (+1), Int 13 (+1), Cha 15 (+2)

_**HP: **_32

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 1 (Dex. Modifier); Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_1

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+5

(Offence option character)

_**Fortitude:**_ + 2

_**Reflex:**_ + 5

_**Will: **_ + 2

_**Melee:**_Unarmed = 1d4; Tonfa = 3 + 2d6 (1d6 per Tonfa, as it comes as a pair)

_**Feats: **_Power Attack; Martial Artist (character deals 1d4 of normal damage as opposed to subdual damage when unarmed); Great Fortitude (+2 to all Fortitude checks); Dodge

_**Skills:**_

Computer Use: 4 (+1); Int

Climb: 5 (+2); Str

Concentration: 5(+2); Con

Gather Info: 5(+2); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 6 (+1); Int

Knowledge (Martial Arts): 6 (+1); Int

Knowledge (Japanese Literature): 5(+1); Int

Research: 5 (+1); Int

Sense motive: 5 (+1); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 5 (+1); Int

Balance: 6 (+2); Dex

Diplomacy: 4 (+2); Cha

Intimidation: 6 (+2); Cha

Jump: 4 (+1); Str

Tumble: 5 (+2); Dex

Swim: 4 (+2); Str

**History: **The stern and feisty Sanyo Yuko is a name both feared and respected by the school's student body. An accomplished martial artist with Olympic medals to her name, she was chosen, after she chose to pursue the career of a teacher, as Kyoto High's chief martial arts instructor. Yuko is the youngest of her four siblings – two of which are her older twin sisters (who are gallivanting in Tokyo), and her brother (who works in construction). Because of her achievements, her family speaks proudly of her, little of their only son, and nothing of their twin children who disgraced the family name.

**Description: **Yuko is a striking woman, with light blue hair and blue eyes. Her expression is often severe, and it is rare to see a smile on her face. Yuko is often found in sports' wear. Her body is lean and muscular, a testament to her love for training. She travels to and from school on a bike.

**(O)**

_**Shizuka Hayame, Kyoto High school student **_(level 4 teacher/civilian) 

_**Attributes:**_ Str 12 (+1), Dex 13 (+1), Con 13 (+1), Wis 14 (+2), Int 14 (+2), Cha 15 (+2)

_**HP: **_23

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 1 (Dex. Modifier); Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_1

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+3

(Defense option character)

_**Fortitude:**_ + 1

_**Reflex:**_ + 4

_**Will: **_ + 4

_**Melee:**_Unarmed = 2; knife = 2 + 1d3

_**Feats:**_ Persuasive: +2 to all Bluff and Intimidation checks; True Faith (Against blasphemous outsiders, all damage is considered as if struck by a3d6 touch attack, with a DC 17 against stunning); Purity (Against blasphemous outsiders, any movement in their direction is divided by half of their normal movement, even if reinforced by spells such as Haste; Detection of blasphemous outsiders gains a +3 bonus)

_**Skills:**_

Bluff: 4 (+2); Int

Computer Use: 4 (+2); Int

Concentration: 3(+1); Con

Gather Info: 5(+2); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 6 (+2); Int

Knowledge (Theology - Christianity): 7 (+2); Int

Research: 6 (+2); Int

Sense motive: 6 (+2); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 5 (+2); Int

Speak other Languages (Latin): 3 (+1); Int

Balance: 3 (+1); Dex

Diplomacy: 6 (+2); Cha

Jump: 4 (+1); Str

Performance (Singing): 5 (+2); Cha

Swim: 3 (+1); Str

**History: **Shizuka is the resident Church girl of Kyoto High, and works in the adjoining Church of the Blessed Mother. An orphan of an accident that claimed her parents, she was raised by the Mother Superior of the Church, Melissa Chan, who happened to be her father's childhood sweetheart and who conceded the match for his affections to her rival due to the fact that she cannot bear children. Melissa had raised Shizuka as her own daughter. Shizuka hopes to become like Melissa, but the latter reminds the former that service to God demands a sacrifice – a sacrifice the older woman does not wish to see her younger pay.

**Description: **Shizuka Hayame is a slender girl of 18 years, with waist-length black hair and golden-brown eyes. She has the outlook of one who is more comfortable among books than the outdoors. Loves classical music and things that are old-fashion, and is possibly one of the few people Enishi-sensei doesn't regard with condescension.

**(O)**

_**Mikage Sahaka, Kyoto High school student, scion of the Mikage Family**_ (level 4 character)

_**Attributes:**_ Str 14 (+2), Dex 15 (+2), Con 15 (+2), Wis 12 (+1), Int 13 (+1), Cha 14 (+2)

_**HP: **_29

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 2 (Dex. Modifier); Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_2

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+3

(Offense option character)

_**Fortitude:**_ + 1

_**Reflex:**_ + 1

_**Will: **_ + 4

_**Melee: **_Unarmed = 3; Switchblade = 3 + 1d3; Baseball bat: 3 +d6

_**Feats:**_ Persuasive: +2 to all Bluff and Intimidation checks; Athletic; Run; (Wealthy – due to family)

_**Skills:**_

Bluff: 5 (+1); Int

Computer Use: 3 (+1); Int

Concentration: 4(+2); Con

Gather Info: 4 (+1); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 3 (+1); Int

Research: 4 (+1); Int

Sense motive: 5 (+1); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 5 (+1); Int

Speak other Languages (German): 5 (+1); Int

Balance: 4 (+2); Dex

Diplomacy: 3 (+1); Cha

Intimidate: 7 (+2); Cha

Drive: 6 (+2); Dex

Jump: 4 (+2); Str

**History: **Sahaka Mikage is theoldest son of the Mikage family, one who was earmarked to succeed the position of the Mikage _zaibatsu_ when its current president steps down. But his recent exploits (and past ones) have made many of its executives wary of putting him in a place of such power and responsibility; Sahaka is most likely to deplete the _zaibatsu_'s considerable reserves in months instead of years to fund his extravagant lifestyle. Sahaka is interested in three things: money, girls and football. Everything else is secondary.

**Description: **Sahaka is a well-built and tall 18-year old boy who is part of Class 7 of Year 3. He has dark hair and green eyes. He prefers to wear casual clothes, and is hardly ever found alone without his sycophants and/or bedmates. He is escorted back to his apartment by bodyguards of the Mikage family (4 level 6 bodyguards).

**(O)**

_**Kagoshima Saori, Kyoto High School teacher **_(level 7 character)

_**Attributes:**_ Str 13 (+1), Dex 14 (+2), Con 13 (+1), Wis 14 (+2), Int 14 (+2), Cha 15 (+2)

_**HP: **_21

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 1 (Dex. Modifier); Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_1

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+1

(Defense option character)

_**Fortitude:**_ + 2

_**Reflex:**_ + 5

_**Will: **_ + 5

_**Melee: **_Unarmed = 2; Tazer = DC 15 to stun target, 1d6 subdual damage

_**Feats:**_ Persuasive: +2 to all Bluff and Intimidation checks; Trustworthy: +2 to aptitude bonus to all Diplomacy and Gather Info checks; Skill Emphasis: Knowledge (Academics): +3 to any checks regarding the skill.

_**Skills:**_

Bluff: 7 (+2); Int

Computer Use: 6 (+2); Int

Concentration: 5 (+1); Con

Gather Info: 5 (+2); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 7 (+2); Int

Research: 6 (+2); Int

Sense motive: 6 (+2); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 6 (+2); Int

Balance: 4 (+2); Dex

Diplomacy: 6 (+2); Cha

Intimidate: 7 (+2); Cha

Drive: 6 (+2); Dex

Jump: 4 (+2); Str

Innuendo: 6(+2); Wis

Spot: 4 (+2); Wis

Move Silently: 7 (+2); Dex

Swim: 5(+1); Str

**History: **Kagoshima Saori is the second-born of three daughters, and was raised in a family that had weathered much and whose bonds are stronger than tempered steel. Saori's parents and her siblings live in two separate apartments in the same block, allowing them to have daily dinners together – and privacy when they need it. Saori had a boyfriend in her university, a fulfilling relationship that ended amicably. The latter had married a French woman and is looking forward to his firstborn child. Saori wants to set up a family of her own in the future – an image that has a certain young man in it (which unnerves the young teacher more than she would care to admit, even if it feels so…right).

**Description: **Saori is a slender young woman of 24 years with knee-length brown hair (which is tied at waist-level with a ribbon) and green eyes. She possesses a good fashion sense. Playful and mischievous, but with a kind heart, Saori is ever-willing to lend a hand to those in need.

**(O)**

_**Hayashi Ayame, Kyoto High School principal **_(level 10 character)

_**Attributes:**_ Str 14 (+2), Dex 17 (+3), Con 14 (+2), Wis 16 (+2), Int 16 (+2), Cha 17 (+3)

_**HP: **_37

_**A.C.: **_10 (base) + 2 (Kendo armour) + 2 (Dex. Modifier); Flat-footed 10

_**Initiative: **_21

_**Base Attack Bonus: **_+3

(Defense option character)

_**Fortitude:**_ + 2

_**Reflex:**_ + 5

_**Will: **_ + 5

_**Melee: **_Unarmed = 3; Tazer = DC 15 to stun target, 1d6 subdual damage; Naginata (wooden): 1d6 + 3; (steel); 2d6 + 3

_**Feats:**_ Persuasive: +2 to all Bluff and Intimidation checks; Martial Artist (deals 1d4 damage normally instead of as subdual); Athletic: +2 to all checks involving climb and jump checks; Wealth (not counted as feat, due to storyline and marriage to husband!); Weapon finesse: Naginata (may utilize dex bonus instead of strength modifier on attack rolls).

_**Skills:**_

Bluff: 7 (+2); Int

Computer Use: 6 (+2); Int

Concentration: 9 (+2); Con

Gather Info: 8 (+2); Cha

Knowledge (Academics): 10 (+2); Int

Knowledge (Martial Arts): 9 (+2); Int

Knowledge (Administration – School): 10 (+2); Int

Research: 8 (+2); Int

Sense motive: 8 (+2); Wis

Speak other Languages (English): 10 (+2); Int

Speak other Languages (Chinese): 8 (+2); Int

Balance: 7 (+2); Dex

Diplomacy: 9 (+2); Cha

Intimidate: 8 (+2); Cha

Drive: 6 (+2); Dex

Jump: 5(+2); Str

Innuendo: 6(+2); Wis

Spot: 6 (+2); Wis

Move Silently: 7 (+2); Dex

Swim: 5(+2); Str

**History: **Hayashi Ayame is a striking but lovely woman who is married to a man a twelve years her senior, and who has borne him two children (one – the son – seven, the other – the daughter – five). Hers is a loveless marriage arranged by the Mikage family to cement a political alliance. Her husband is more interested in his affairs outside than in his faithful wife – who has begun to pay him back by having one of her own. Ayame is struggling to regain the pride and freedom she had lost years ago. Ayame knows Makoto; he is, after all, related to her – albeit distantly – and her quashing the demands that he be expelled after the 'Ruri Incident' was but one way for her to get back at the Mikage family. She is aware (and quietly supports) Saori's growing affections for Makoto.

**Description: **Ayame is a regal woman in her mid-thirties, with a lean musculature and grace of a woman half her age. She has waist-length dark hair that is soft to the touch and brown eyes. Dressed smartly, regardless of the occasion, Ayame comports herself as befitting the daughter of a respected family. Ayame goes to and from school in a red sports-car.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Shinji Ikari/Misato Katsuragi/Ruida Sakurazuka**_

_**The Maidens of Pure Blood/ Hisako Tomoe/ Yuriko Kurohime**_

_Even without speaking,_

_The damned know each other by sight, if not by name._

_We shall purge the world of these tainted souls,_

_So that the innocent and helpless need not fear neither their treachery nor their intentions!_

_Inquisitor-General Catherine Bauer, Supreme Commander of the Gladius Dei_

_God is simply Satan garbed in white._

_Anonymous source, 1210 A.D._

_**Kyoto City – Kyoto High School, Japan, 6**__**th**__** September 1999, 1000 hrs**_

Ikari Shinji had lived in Kyoto City for three years ever since his guardian – and rescuer – Katsuragi Misato had taken him under her wing. Those three years had been the best years of his life. It was one where he did not have to constantly look over his shoulder, fearing that his father's enemies had finally managed to catch up with him. And his father had many, all of whom wanted to settle accounts with him. Many had learnt the hard way that Ikari Gendo, leader of the Shinsengumi and a respected officer of the Russian mafia cartel, Hostel Moscow (1), was not to be trifled with. He had no weakness in which they could exploit. They could torture his son and send him back to his father in small boxes, and the latter would merely shrug and have said boxes thrown into the nearest incinerator.

The High School student looked at his reflection in the glass window. Many of his father's lieutenants had remarked that God must have used to same mould for Shinji as He had for his father. But, that was where the similarities ended. The attributes that had made Ikari Gendo such a feared underworld figure were lacking in his son. Seeing that his son was next to useless, the crime lord made arrangements for him to live with his mother's brother in England. He remembered his father, towering over him, looking down at him with an expression carved from ice, "Live with your uncle. Should I find a use for you, I will call for you."

Shinji remembered crying. At six years of age, set adrift in a world whose way of showing mercy to the unloved and the forsaken was to grind salt into the wound, it was all he could do to not chase the car his father was driven off in. He remembered the way his foster parents looked at him; he was a nuisance to them – but one they could live with, considering that his father paid them over ten thousand pounds monthly for his care. Shinji was also aware that one of his father's lieutenants was tasked to keep an eye on him while managing their operations in London. Why this was so, Shinji was not aware until he was twelve. And that was when he came face-to-face with some of his father's enemies – some of whom, he realized, were more (or less) than human. Shinji had been walking home from school and had made the mistake of taking a short-cut through the nearby slums in order to get home quickly. London's slums were dangerous places, he had been warned countless times, but it was more so when night descended upon it. The dregs of society – and worse – called that place home. A lone Asian boy was a target members of the 'Hitler Youth' (as his uncle called the skinheads whose favorite pastime was to attack non-Whites and gays) would not pass up.

There were times when Shinji sometimes wished he had taken the longer, safer route back to his uncle's place. He would survive the tongue-lashing the latter would inevitably hand out. He would **not** survive the four-inch claws that almost tore his body in half. He could stand before his uncle's wrath, but no one could stand before the nine-foot monster that was myth made flesh. Nor could he outrun the beautiful, fanged beings whose glowing eyes bespoke of a hunger which could only be slaked on the blood of the living. He remembered the inhuman strength of his captors, and the hate with which they regarded him.

'_I will enjoy making you suffer, boy,'_ the werewolf had spoken, _'For what your father has done to my mate and my cubs, I will visit on you a thousand-fold__.__ I will leave you alive so that my allies will be able to visit their tender mercies on you…'_

Paralyzed by fear, he had watched as the werewolf traced a burning sigil in the air with one talon. He remembered the white-hot agony that had cut through his young body like a knife, and how it contrasted with the indescribable ecstasy that flooded it as the one who held him – a beautiful young woman – sank her fangs into his neck and slowly started to drain him. The sensation intensified when the other vampires (for what else could they be, Shinji thought) joined her. They sank their fangs into his arms and legs. The savage violation threatened to break Shinji's sanity. He remembered calling for his father and the werewolf's barking laughter. He remembered hearing strange voices speaking in a language he did not recognize but could somehow understand.

And he remembered how the werewolf was sent flying back, a thrown spear throwing it into an abandoned store across the road with the force of a freight train. That had been the last thing Shinji saw. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in a hospital. His uncle had been none too pleased by his foolishness, and the police officers who had taken his statement had looked at him as if he had gone mad. No matter how much Shinji tried to convince his foster-family or the authorities, neither believed him. And Shinji knew that it was only a matter of time before his father's inhuman adversaries attempted to strike at the latter through him once more.

It did not take long for Shinji's prediction to come true. The next attempt on his life came three months later, this time by an assassin hired by one of his father's many enemies. This one had been human, but the gun he had pointed in Shinji's direction had been no less deadly. The attempt had been made in broad daylight and in the worst place possible: school. Had his teachers' not reacted as they had, Shinji did not doubt that he would be occupying a spot in the local cemetery. The first attempt on his life had been frightening but had little effect on his normal, everyday life. The second attempt destroyed it utterly in one stroke. Questions began to arise about why someone would send an assassin to kill a 12-year old boy. Who had the motive – or the money – to hire one? The conspiracy theories his schoolmates and the teachers made up drove the school's already frenzied rumor mill berserk.

The police kicked themselves when they realized who he really was, and how big a target he was. Never mind that his father was a man who has made the headlines for all the wrong reasons, the son was not guilty of any one of them. On the suggestion of one of the police inspectors, Shinji was transferred to a school close to a police station. But that did not help either. Several days after his thirteenth birthday, another attempt on his life was made – and this one by thugs paid by representatives of the Chinese underworld. Unlike the first two times, where he was the only target, the third attempt resulted in a bloodbath that left over thirty children and a dozen teachers dead. Shinji could remember vividly the screams and the gunfire, the laughter and the off-handed remarks made by the killers.

And he could remember how Katsuragi Misato came into his life. Suffice to say, the way she drove and parked her Renault was the same way she had come into his life. Her dark purple hair and brown eyes bore into him as she crashed through the window of his classroom and took out the gunman who had been seconds away from ending the lives of both him and his classmates. A single word left his lips the moment he saw her: '_Walkure…'_

But where the handmaidens of the Norse gods had brought the valiant dead to Paradise, this one would bring him to safety. And before Shinji knew it, it was as if they had lived together all their lives. The walls he had raised when he had lived in his uncle's home crumbled in the face of Misato's personality: it was hard to hate the brave, playful woman whose heart was bigger than the world she lived in. And as Shinji grew older, he found his eyes drawn to the physical attributes that would have made a priest kick a hole in a stained-glass window. He began to understand why some of his classmates – and no few male teachers in school, some of whom were already married – envied his living arrangements.

Clearly, they had not been paying heed to his complaints about how messy his guardian was and how much of a slob she could be. Shinji's female schoolmates, however, were another story entirely. They saw Katsuragi Misato as an independent and intelligent woman (which was true enough) who lived by her own rules and who had come far in her chosen profession. The fact that she had served in Interpol for three years before she requested a transfer to Kyoto City's metropolitan Police – and that she was a member of the Organized Crime Unit – had served only to improve her standing in the eyes of Shinji's schoolmates. But what the young man did not tell his schoolmates was that there was a section within the OCU known as the Shinken. The unit was small, numbering no more than fifty. They were led by a beautiful, silver-haired woman Shinji had met some weeks after he and Misato first moved into their apartment in Kyoto City. Shinji remembered the eerie smile she had thrown his way prior to her introducing herself, and shivered. Mishima Kaoru, captain of the Shinken, was a dangerous woman – one he was better off staying far away from.

Shinji's cell-phone started to vibrate, breaking him out of his train of thought. He pulled the slender device out of his blazer and flipped it open. His guardian had sent him a message – one that made him smile. He punched in a reply, sent it to her, and excused himself from the classroom.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto City – Kyoto Metropolitan Police Department HQ**__**,**__** 1015 hrs**_

Katsuragi Misato flipped her cell-phone shut as she pushed herself off her Renault, smiling at the jibe her ward had fired her way, before joining her colleagues in the meeting room. Police Superintendent Shinn Okimura, who was responsible for all police operations within the Kyoto region, had called for a meeting of all station and department heads at the enormous complex that served as police headquarters. "So," her colleague asked, "what did Shinji-kun say?"

Misato gave the perky girl behind her a thumbs-up, "He's okay with it; he'll go to the market after he's done with school. Now, we'd better get to the meeting place, Chidori, before the chief starts raising a stink about our being late. He's never quite forgiven us for the last time…"

Yoshiyuki Chidori, at 26 years old, was Misato's partner in the OCU. Easy-going and mischievous, the red-haired girl was a thorn in the side of district chief Yotsuba, who happened to be both their superiors. Shinji had taken to the older girl almost immediately, and the two were as much friends as they were partners-in-crime. Chidori was also the older half-sister of a certain Asuka Sohryu Langley, who was a decade younger and whose formidable intellect had seen to it that she had graduated from Berlin University with first-class honors. Misato admired Asuka; the half-German girl would go far in life. Shinji, however, could not stand Asuka.

Their last meeting had almost ended with a fistfight – and Misato learning that Shinji had a vocabulary of swear words that would make a sailor blush. Even Touji and Kensuke, Shinji's classmates in Kyoto High, had been shocked by Shinji's reaction – and the fact he had stood up to the 'Witch of Jindai High' and lived to tell the tale. Asuka was, Touji had explained, a holy terror – she had handed Kyoto High their helmets during the last inter-school martial arts and swimming competitions. Had it not been for Makoto, the nephew of _Tsuki_'s owner, and the captain of Kyoto High's Kendo Club, Mikage Kasumi, the school would not have had a shred of dignity in which to ease the pain of a (very) humiliating defeat. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for a dozen schools in the prefecture: Asuka had gone ancestral on the whole lot (2).

"How's Asuka, by the way?"

"My sis…?" Chidori ran a hand through her ashen hair, "The same. She's still gloating over her kill-score, fuming that Kyoto High did not keel over despite her best efforts, and pissed that Shinji-kun could hit harder than she could take."

Misato raised an eyebrow. Talk about holding a grudge; the whole affair had been over two months ago, and the girl was acting like it happened only an hour ago. And Shinji's biting remarks had put him in the bad books of an individual who had a temper that would put a volcano to shame. She grinned inwardly; this was going to be more interesting than the sit-coms on TV.

"Say, Mi-chan," Chidori said as they made their way into the building's lobby, "what do you think this meeting is about? Superintendent Shinn called this one pretty urgently."

"Beats me," Misato replied, "But I can be a month's pay that Section 2" and she jerked her head towards another group who were sitting at the nearby cafe, "has something to do with it. The Spook Brigade in Tokyo, I heard, is having their hands full dealing with another slew of murders and kidnappings. You read the papers a week back about some mad fuck attacking people in broad daylight with a katana? And that they had to turn him to Swiss cheese to put him down?"

"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"Well," Misato added, "I got a copy of the report from my friend in Tokyo's MPD Forensics Department after they did an autopsy on the guy. He was high on Valkyr."

"Valkyr…!" Chidori's eyes widened, "Mi-chan, are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Command is up in arms. The politicians in the Diet are pissed – and scared. And Section 2 is involved? If that stuff gets onto the street…"

Chidori swallowed. The image that took shape in her mind was not a pleasant one, especially when one considered the scandal that had made headlines two years ago. It was one that made governments – and terrorist organizations – round the world take notice. At the heart of the scandal was an American pharmaceutical titan, the American military and several individuals within the government who were determined to ensure that Western dominance would never be threatened. The efforts of all three saw to the creation of an experimental drug called Valkyr. The objective of the project that Valkyr had been developed under – Project Einherjar – had been to create a cadre of invincible soldiers.

They succeeded. The drug Aesir synthesized enhanced the stamina, reflexes and aggression levels of those who took it – but at a cost: it only worked on a select few. The rest who took it suffered severe hallucination and manic-depressive symptoms. And that was not the worst of it: Valkyr had an addiction quotient higher than cocaine and heroin put together. Addicts would do unspeakable acts simply to get another dose. The test subjects of Project Einherjar were a case in point. There were originally a hundred test subjects, all soldiers from the military's various Special Forces branches. When the American military's Joint Chiefs of Staff declared Project Einherjar a failure and shut it down, these doomed men and women knew it was only a matter of time before their supply of the addictive drug ran out. A majority petitioned for aid from the military prior to their discharge. They were ignored. Finally, they resorted to threats. That led to many being taken into custody. The powers-that-be were determined to silence all who would let the cat out of the bag.

When word reached those yet to be silenced of their arrest warrants, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Desperate and hungering for more of the drug that made them superhuman, the last of Project Einherjar's test subjects mounted a daring raid on an Aesir research facility that produced the drug. The facility was well-guarded, but against the likes of desperate and well-trained veteran soldiers, it left the police department – when they were finally alerted hours later – with a lot of bodies to clear up. Aesir covered up the incident in order to save the reputations of those involved in Project Einherjar, going as far as to arrange the murder several of the project's key members by Valkyr addicts to throw off any who hoped to probe into the matter too deeply.

But they had yet to reckon with the husband of one of the Valkyr scientists who had been murdered. He wanted to know the names of those who were responsible – and he wanted them to pay. The man was not rich, but he had friends the likes of which that made the feared Special Air Services of Britain shiver. Within two months, Aesir lost almost a third of its board of executives and the American government lost five of its finest, two of whom were generals in the Army. Information regarding Project Einherjar was leaked to every major news network from Asia to Europe; the individual had hoped to contain the threat before it was too late. He – or she, or they – were too little, too late. Valkyr was already being sold in the streets of every major city in America, and consignments of the drug were already on their way to Europe and Asia. The law enforcement agencies of every country were doing their best to prevent Valkyr from reaching the streets, but it was only a matter of time before the traffickers found a loophole.

This was one of those times. And if they did not solve the problem soon, it was only a matter of time before some nut decided to, as Misato put it, go postal and settle his or her accounts with society for one reason or another. Chidori put a hand to her temple, "This is going to be a long day, isn't it, Mi-chan?"

The purple-haired woman gave her younger partner a sickly grin, "When has it ever **NOT** been a long day, Chi-chan? Especially when that idiot is here…!"

"Eh?" Chidori looked past Misato's shoulder, to see a lean, perpetually unshaven man walking towards them with an easy smile and a hand raised in greeting.

"Yo, Mi-chan, Chi-chan," the man said, "How's life?"

"Kaji-san…? What are you doing here?" Chidori glanced in her partner's direction. The latter looked like a volcano ready to erupt. The voice at the back of Chidori's mind was telling her that today had gone down the toilet – and the latter could not help but agree. Kaji was Misato's ex-boyfriend from Interpol, and the two had known each other during their University days.

"To see my darling Misato-chan, of course," Kaji of the Special Investigations Bureau replied, at which Misato replied with a very vulgar hand gesture that made several Section 2 officers walking past them explode in laughter.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto City – Kyoto High School staff room, at that same time**_

Sakurazuka Ruida had been sitting quietly at her desk for the past hour. Although outwardly composed and busy with her work, the teacher's mind was a chaotic maelstrom of questions without conclusive answers. Ruida had worked in Kyoto high for over three years ever since she managed to secure a teaching post there. Life was as it always had been – peaceful, meaningful, with upheavals few and far between. The blue-haired woman had been many things before she made the decision to walk the path of the teacher. It was not only a profession; it was her passion. She had so much to share.

There were times, however, when Ruida's true age actually showed, making her students wonder as to whether their form teacher was as young as she said she was. The way she delivered her lessons made the students of Class 2-8 wonder if their teacher had been there in person. Suffice to say, a phrase from the English movie, _A Few Good Men_, proved to be perfect in deflecting any unwanted questions: 'You can't handle the truth! And besides, it's rude to ask a woman her age…'

Ruida chuckled. The latter part of the sentence had been added as an afterthought, but it had the desired effect of lightening the air, especially when it came to sensitive topics such as the atrocities Japan had committed during the Second World War. That had not been an easy week. It had forced her students to question everything they believed and read, and to come to terms with the fact that the world was not as simple as they would have liked it to be. Kusakabe Makoto, Kyoto High's resident swordsman, was a case in point. Everyone in the school knew that Makoto was the great-grandson of Mikage Hiroshi, the current Mikage family patriarch, and that the relationship between the two was acrimonious at best. Many had asked why he had refused to mend ties with his family, a question that was soon answered when his cousin, Mikage Sahaka, did something he shouldn't have done.

Ruida remembered the warm, lively Hayase Ruri, and the day she pulled Makoto out of the shell over a decade ago. She remembered the accident that had left the latter an orphan, and the dispute that had forced Aoshi of the Shinomori _zaibatsu_ – and Makoto's kendo _sensei_ – to step in. She remembered the day Ruri's personality changed, and the rumors about how much of a slut she really was. It had not taken Ruida much effort to get the whole story out of Ruri, nor had it taken Makoto long to find out what had happened. Before Ruida could stop Makoto, the latter had gone on a hunt that made the teacher remember a past she wanted, more than anything, to forget.

And it reminded Ruida of the blood flowed in Makoto's veins. She remembered the look in his eyes, the way it changed from the gentle grey she had known for ten years to a shade of gold she had seen only in the heir to the throne of the former Angel of Blood. It had amazed Ruida that a murderer worse than any she had ever known was so different from the stories she'd heard about him. When they had met face-to-face, he had spoken in the tongue of the Fallen, a perversion of the language spoken by God's celestial servants, offering a truce between them and an alliance. Had they met during a legendary age, the answer Sakurazuka Ruida would have given would have been to swing her scythe. But that was then; the lines that had once been so clear were blurred now. She needed to only see – and read – the news to know this. When did it all start to go wrong?

'_The greatest triumph of the Devil was not convincing the world that he did not exist; it was that he managed to turn the servants of God against each other.' _

Ruida stood up and walked towards the staff room's pantry, the soft voice of one of Heaven's most potent adversaries reminding her of a bleak truth that had seen to her parting ways with her brothers and sisters. She remembered, with a brief flash of anger, the events that had led to that parting. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a locket, the elegant, elaborate design on its metallic surface taking the emblem of a kingdom whose name was lost to both history and legend.

"Ruida-san…?" a voice called out, "Are you all right?"

The blue-haired teacher's head snapped up and she turned to a familiar face walking towards her, "Eh…? Oh, Saori-chan, it's you. Sorry, just spaced out for a moment there. How was your holiday?"

The brown-haired teacher chuckled, "Pretty good, all things considered. I'll show you the pictures when the photo shop's done developing them. By the way, Ruida, are you aware that our school has two new additions?"

"Really…?" Ruida feigned surprise, "Tell me about them. Who are they? Where did they come from? What are they like?"

Even as Saori told her about them, Ruida knew all there was to know about them. Even though countless decades had passed since she last saw them, the memories she had of the school's newest members had not dimmed with the passing of the ages. The question was what they were doing here, of all places. Could they be…? No, that was mere conjecture. She had to be certain. If they were here to gather information on the region supernatural factions, she would leave them be. But if they were here for Makoto or for the relic that he keeps under his bed, Ruida was not going to let them leave the country alive. She cursed Makoto's father. What possessed the latter to give a mythical weapon whose power surpassed those known to humanity to a boy who stood no chance of protecting it? And could the Bloody Angel truly be dead? Ruida doubted it. She sipped the hot tea thoughtfully before asking Saori if she wanted a cup herself.

There would be time enough later to find her answers.

**(O)**

_**Kyoto City, Shinomori Dojo, 1030 hrs**_

Shinomori Aoshi, former Paladin of St. Michael and Chairman of the Shinomori _Zaibatsu_, opened his blue eyes long before his wife, Shinomori Megumi, slid open the _shoji_ door. The latter was dressed, like he was, in traditional Japanese clothing, her dark hair a contrast to the beautiful kimono once worn by Aoshi's mother. Aoshi nodded in greeting to his wife before turning his gaze on the shorter figure standing behind her. Clad in the robes of a priest was Kagura Nakahito, younger brother of Kagura Kamihito. The Kagura family was the oldest _onmyou _family in Japan, second only to the Katsuragi family. But, for all their knowledge and power, the Kagura family was unable to dissolve the curse placed upon their bloodline by an enemy they had defeated some four centuries ago.

And with only two members of a family that had once numbered over two hundred, the demon's victory was all but assured. It was only a matter of time before its servants – or time – brought the last Kagura into the underworld to burn for all eternity for the temerity of defying it. Kamihito was desperate; with the stars and planets coming into alignment, the seals and wards that had bound the Kagura family's ancient enemy in limbo were on the verge of dissolving. Already, they could hear their enemy's voice in the back of their minds, its whispered threats all the made all the more chilling by the fact that the barriers between worlds were weakening to the point that several of the lesser lords of the underworld were crossing over. How long before its rulers did so?

"Nakahito," Aoshi spoke finally, "it has been a while. How have you been?"

"I'm fine," the young priest replied, "Yourself?"

"I've had better days," Aoshi replied before turning to his wife, "Megumi, can you get me the brown folder in my room?"

"Certainly," his wife replied, "Tea and snacks?"

"If you don't mind…"

Megumi nodded and left both her husband and the young priest alone. The latter sat next to Aoshi with a weary sigh. Even though only 17, Nakahito bore the worst of the family's curse; unlike his ancestors, however, he had help from on high – literally. And it was because of those four girls that now sat in the living room that Nakahito had been able to resist the Taint. But for how long, Aoshi did not know. It made the ex-Paladin think of Kusakabe Makoto, his student and the son of a man who had once stood high in the Enemy's favor. It made him wonder just what had motivated the Bloody Angel to turn on those he had once fought alongside and led, and why he had suppressed his powers to live as a normal human during the days of his marriage to Mikage Shihana.

A whim, perhaps…? It was not unheard of for the immortals to descend unto the earthly plane to take mortal lovers. Asian and Western legends alike were rife with such stories, and the children of such unions were legends unto themselves. Or was it something more? There were stories about rapacious demons who viewed humanity as chattel or as tools with which to bring all of Creation under the boot-heel of the dark powers. And it was one such story that had left the Kagura family's youngest scion little choice but to go to Aoshi's house in person to deliver his findings in person and to discuss the next step. Aoshi turned to look out into the courtyard, watching the sakura petals dance in the wind, his mind recalling the words written in a mythical age regarding maidens of pure blood. Born once every thousand years, these fated girls were destined to give birth to a child that would restore – or tip – the balance of power between Heaven and Hell. As a result, a pure-blooded girl was a prize coveted by both. Legend has it that Lilith, wife of Satan and mother of all the Evils in Hell, was one such woman. Likewise, the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus, was another. But one thing was for certain: the legend of the pure-blooded girl was real – as was the desire of the servants of Darkness to have her. When the stars came into alignment, when the gates of her womb finally parted, a battle royal would begin.

The last time the stars came into alignment had been eight months ago, and the battle that erupted between the servants of Light and the champions of Darkness saw to many lives lost. But, in the end, despite the best efforts of the Swords of Light, the pure-blooded girl was abducted by unknown individuals and delivered into the hands of their enemies. The Swords of Light, the last surviving few, made a last, desperate attempt to rescue the girl before the ritual to impregnate the girl was carried out. They arrived too late. They would bear witness to the child born of the union between the demon prince had sought to defeat and the pure-blood girl grow to maturity within moments, still drenched in bodily fluids of its mother. The night the Dark Apostle had been born was known as the Night of Despair. Knowing that they were already too late, the Swords of Light attempted to rescue the mother of the Dark Apostle before the Demon Prince – who had impregnated her – ferried the girl to Hell to birth more abominations with which to swell the ranks of the Unholy Host.

It was then that Aoshi looked at the beautifully-crafted sword that rested on the _katana-kake _behind the seated Nakahito. The weapon was locked forever into its scabbard by a long, thick lock of blue hair that had belonged to the pure-blooded girl that the Swords of Light had failed to protect. The sword was _Quietus_, Sword of Destruction, the magical weapon of the mage known as the Sentinel of Flame. It was a weapon used only by those who were either on the verge of becoming Arch-mages, or were Arch-mages themselves. The Sentinel of Flame – also known as Ignatius Crowe – had fallen trying to slay the newly-born Dark Apostle. The lone survivor of the Night of Despair, a Paladin by the name of Christopher Wilkins, had been the one to bring _Quietus_ to him – after using it to slay the one he had been charged to protect.

Christopher had warned the Conclave of Light – the group that Aoshi was been part of and which was responsible for all demon-hunting operations in Asia – that the Dark Apostle's power was beyond anything he or the Swords of Light had faced before. If the Conclave of Light was to have any chance of defeating the Apostle, they would have to send in their best – and be prepared to owe the Inquisition a debt. Aoshi knew that Christopher meant well. The Paladin wanted, more than anything, to chain the Dark Apostle in the deepest mystic dungeon beneath the Vatican and throw away the key.

But Aoshi and the masters of the Conclave of Light knew that the manner in which the debt was to be repaid was unacceptable to all of them. The Inquisition had long wanted to bring the Conclave under their control, and the latter owing them a favor would be a good step to accomplishing that goal. But the motive for the 'union', Aoshi knew, was greed. The Conclave possessed knowledge and relics that pre-dated the founding of the Messianic religions; some of the weapons and rituals that were sealed deep within the Conclave's major strongholds throughout Asia were to be used only as a last resort. The acquisition of the Conclave's considerable resources would aid the Inquisition considerably in its mission to eradicate any being whose existence was anathema to the vision of the Creator.

Knowing that inaction was inexcusable, the Conclave of Light sent its finest trackers to search for the Dark Apostle – and to investigate who were the individuals who had delivered the pure-blood girl into the hands of their enemies. But three months after the Night of Despair, word soon reached the Conclave that the stars that heralded Ishtar's Descent – that which marked the coming of the maiden of pure blood – were coming into alignment once more. The significance of this was not lost on both the Vatican and the Conclave. Only once in all human history would two pure-blood maidens walk the Earth – and it was when the Enemy was prophesied to finally succeed in his attempt to escape the prison God had cast him into.

Ragnarok was coming.

Even so, Aoshi was not about to let a second Night of Despair take place. The Enemy already had one Dark Apostle. Woe betide the servants of Light should their enemies bring about the birth of a second Apostle. He turned to face the youngest scion of the Kagura family, "Has your brother located her, Nakahito-kun?"

"Yes. My brother has sent in a cadre of my family's best _shinobi_ to ensure that's he remains safe for the time being. The girl's name is Chiharu Mikagami, and she is a student of Tokyo University…" and paused as the _shoji_ door opened and Shinomori Megumi entered with the folder her husband had requested under one arm and the tray of tea and snacks held be a servant of the family. Megumi left the folder in her husband's hand and the servant left the tray on the table before departing.

"There was one other thing. And my brother told me to tell you that your other suspicions weren't far off the mark and that he is close to uncovering their identities. What was he talking about, Aoshi-san?" Nakahito continued, "Is this something to do with Kamira-san (3)?"

No point hiding it: "Yes. I had suspected that there were certain powerful individuals in the Chinese, Korean and our government who are responsible for the fate that had befallen her. I have no doubt that they are already close to locating Chiharu-san, and I intend to stop them by whatever means I have at my disposal."

"There is a fine line between justice and vengeance, Aoshi-san."

Aoshi gave Nakahito a rare smile, and he turned to look out into the garden, "A long time ago, a friend of mine said those exact same words, Nakahito-kun. He died fighting for what he believed in…against people we had thought our allies. There are some things in this world that are beyond forgiveness. Betrayal is one of them. And the men your brother and I seek to punish have betrayed humanity."

**(O)**

_**Kyoto City – Kyoto High School, Japan, 1035 hrs**_

Hisako Tomoe knew that her latest 'customer' was getting impatient, but could not resist playing with him. Besides, where was the fun in simply humping him there and then? Better to get him worked up, so that when they got down to it, he would give her a good time. Besides, her customer's 'request', made via the S-LAN (4), had forced Tomoe to make changes to her plans; the latter had hoped to have a conversation with Tokiya and Makoto during the break period regarding their outing next week.

"You know," Tomoe grumbled, looking over her shoulder at her customer, "you almost got me caught. And you're new to the Network, aren't you? _Mou…_you need to learn how to send the requests properly before the Purity Brigade does a number on us."

The Network was a term coined by Makoto and gleefully adopted by the students within and outside Kyoto High to describe the groups which provided 'services' to those able to meet the price. Those new to the Network first had to learn to voice their 'requests' in a way that would not arouse the suspicion of the school authorities or the police. Both parties were slowly becoming aware of the pseudo-syndicate that was operating right under their noses, and were working together to identify its leaders and members and to dismantle what they perceived was a threat to the health and morals of the student body.

Tomoe knew that to identify all the members of the Network was impossible. It was a rule for its members to use pseudonyms, and to address one another during their transactions by them. The guy who stood behind her was known as 'Foxhound', a name most likely inspired by the latest Playstation game. And like his pseudonym, he was hungry for a service that the Network could provide: sex. Tomoe looked at Foxhound; she knew his real name, and that he was a member of the Athletics Club.

"Shall we get on with it?" Tomoe said, "We'd best make this a quick one. I want to go meet my friends."

Foxhound nodded and removed his trousers and underwear, revealing his erection to the girl. Tomoe grinned inwardly; her earlier ploy of getting the boy worked up had been successful. He was now chomping at the bit, so to speak. Tomoe reached under her skirt, slid her thumbs over the hem of her panties, and pushed them down. Twirling it about one finger with a playful smirk, she said, "I hope you're good, Foxhound-kun…"

"We're about to find out, Fairy," Foxhound replied, addressing Tomoe by her pseudonym before pulling her into his arms. The latter gave a gasp as she felt the former's bare penis stroke her bare pussy beneath her skirt, seeking out the opening between her legs. Tomoe stopped him when she realized this, and asked if the latter had a condom. Her schoolmate nodded, and reached into the pocket of his blazer. Tomoe had learnt that, in her line, being safe was better than being sorry. Catching STD or getting pregnant would upset her plans of going to college and, from there, to university.

With the condom sheathing his penis, Foxhound proceeded to gently push Tomoe onto the bed. He placed his hands on her knees and spread her legs. His eyes widened when he saw that Fairy was not only shaved, but that despite many had tasted what she offered, how pink the opening was. It reminded Foxhound of sakura petals. He ran a finger along the slit, surprised at how wet the girl was. The latter gasped, causing him to look up at her. The playful smirk on girl's lips and the sultry look in her grey eyes was all it took to turn his blood to steam. Placing the swollen organ at the entrance of her sex and his hands on either side of her, Foxhound paused briefly to savor the moment. He had seen Fairy during her club practices, and had seen the way her cheerleading costume had accentuated her body. It had provided plenty of fodder for his fantasies. But this time, it was better. It was real. He was about to have sex with one of the hottest girls in the cheerleading club. Foxhound thrust his hips forward, sheathing his hard shaft in her wet interior.

Tomoe moaned, feeling her vaginal muscles clamp down upon Foxhound's shaft, and gasped as her schoolmate started to pump into her, gaining speed with each thrust. With a strangled cry, Foxhound shuddered as several jets of his seed slammed against the condom Fairy had asked him to wear. Tomoe sighed inwardly; that had been nowhere satisfying. Foxhound was an energetic lover, but he lacked stamina to 'hold the line'. Her schoolmate took a minute to recover and separate, the tip of the condom bulging with the weight of his semen. He had a lot in there.

"You're good, Fox," Tomoe grinned as she pulled her panties back on, "But you need to be able to last longer. That way, you'll be able to satisfy your partner. If you want to…practice," she licked her lips, "I'm always available."

"Thanks, Fairy."

"Don't thank me yet, Fox. You forgot one thing."

"And that is?"

"My payment," Tomoe said, raising one hand, "You did promise me 2000 yen, after all."

**(O)**

Ten minutes later, Tomoe was walking up the stairs to the roof where her Makoto and Tokiya were waiting (and no doubt, fuming). As she turned the corner, she came face-to-face with a girl she had never seen before. This, then, must be one of the two transfer students that her classmates had been talking about earlier. She had an athletic, but curvaceous, build similar to Makoto's cousin and rival, Mikage Kasumi. The girl's silver-amethyst hair gleamed in the sunlight, and the way which she looked at her made Tomoe uncomfortable.

"So," the girl spoke in perfectly accented Japanese, "you're Hisako Tomoe of Class 10."

Tomoe raised an eyebrow; the foreign girl had addressed her without honorifics – a big _faux pas _in a country where courtesy played a major role in everyday life. Only those who were within the individual's inner circle or family were allowed to address them without honorifics. But, as it was the girl's first day in school, the brown-haired girl decided to let it slide. No point complicating matters.

"Yes, I am. And you are…?"

"My name is Lilith Arikel. I am in Tokiya's class."

"It is good to meet you, Lilith-san. Is there something I can do to help you? My friends are waiting for me."

The German girl stepped closer to Tomoe, a smile curving her lips and her crimson eyes turning to a shade of molten gold that made the latter freeze in place, "Yes, there is. I want you to tell me what you know about Kusakabe Makoto."

And, without knowing why, Tomoe told Lilith all she knew. By the time the latter was done questioning her, Tomoe realized that break-time was over…and that she had spent far too much time entertaining Foxhound earlier (5). Knowing that cursing and complaining was not going to help, Tomoe turned and walked back down the steps. Tokiya, Tomoe knew, was going to kill her when school ended for making her look like an idiot.

**(O)**

Lilith sat back down at her desk and mulled over what Tomoe had told her. The information she had been given by one of her retainers prior to her arrival in Kyoto City correlated with what she had been told moments before. Said retainer had warned her – perhaps unnecessarily – of the lecherous future leader of the Mikage family. The German girl snorted inwardly; she had drunk deep from the chalice of depravity and perversion, the single sip of which would have reduced lesser men to insanity. Mikage Sahaka and his ilk were but children in her eyes.

Lilith's mind returned to one snippet in her conversation with Tomoe: _'Mikage Sahaka and his friends made one very bad mistake: they crossed Makoto-kun. They should have kept their hands off Ruri-chan, but some men think with their dicks and not their heads. I have never seen Makoto mad in all the years I knew him – and after he sent nearly a dozen of Sahaka's buddies to hospital for what they done to Ruri-chan – I never wanted to again.'_

When asked what happened to Ruri, Tomoe told her that the girl and her family had moved to Hokkaido to start afresh. Sahaka had apparently gotten her pregnant, something that would only deepen the animosity Makoto had with the Mikage family. Lilith's lips curved in a grim smile.

"Perfect…"

**(O)**

Makoto looked at his project notebook, his mind creating the invisible links of cause-and-effect between the characters within his father's works – a work that had yet to be finished. _Circle of the Fallen_ had been his father's _magnum opus_, and it was one hailed as the premier horror/suspense-thriller novel of the decade. Even renowned horror writer, Stephen King (6), acknowledged the series to be one of the best he had ever read – a ringing endorsement that saw to the books flying off the shelves faster than bookstores could have it restocked. The religious institutions, however, saw red. His father had been merciless in his derision of such august bodies, for the very same reasons that now made headlines on newspapers throughout the world.

Makoto had read his father's earlier works, and could empathize with the characters and their predicaments. They were normal individuals pushed into conflicts not meant to be fought by mortals. Many lost, but they won a victory that their defeat – and time – could never tarnish: they stood firm in the face of impossible odds. '_The Bloody Angel's Resurrection'_ had been one of his favorites. And, though he never spoke of it, _'The Seduction of Kira Yamato'_ (7) had been another. Had that been known, however, he would have been teased mercilessly by Saori-sensei and his schoolmates. The _Resurrection_ had all the elements of a war story, but incorporated within it controversial subjects such as incest and devil-worship**. **The _Resurrection_ was a side-story set during the Fourth Crusade, and had revolved around the bastard son of the Beowulf House, Ramza.

The _Seduction_, however, was set in a more modern setting not unlike the one Makoto lived in. The original draft had been written by his father and had been set in the early 1980s during Japan's economic boom. Its main plot revolved around a young university student whose soul was bitterly contested by several powerful supernatural beings. Erotic, steeped in the cruel, byzantine politics of immortal beings and the intense shadow wars they fought, it revealed the depths in which mortals and immortals alike could sink in order to achieve their aims. Kusakabe Raiha, Makoto's father, had died before he could send the manuscript to his agent.

Rather than let his father's work gather dust, Makoto had, after making changes to the story, sent it to his agent in Tokugawa Publishing as well as his father's agent in America. The latter had been particularly ecstatic, especially as Makoto had made it clear that he intended to finish his father's work. The _Seduction_ had been Makoto's first book, his declaration of intent and a broadside to those who had hoped to claim his father's legacy for themselves. Within weeks of the book's release, Makoto was glad that he had heeded his aunt's advice earlier of not using his real name. He chuckled. His father had received death threats and _fatwas_ (something you receive from the Muslim religious authorities when you say or do something they do not like; Salman Rushdie would be a good example) for his works.

He, on the other hand, was hoping no one found out that he was 'Nanaya Kuro', whom Makoto had given 'permission' to finish his father's works. If they did, he would end up being abducted only wake up the following morning in a bed with a very naked – and he hoped privately, a very beautiful and satisfied – woman.

"Kusakabe-kun…?"

Makoto quickly slammed his notebook shut and turned to see who it was who had managed to sneak up behind him. It was Sophia, who was looking at him with an expression of mingled shock and amusement.

"Please don't do that, Sophia-san. You almost…" and Makoto's voice petered out as he caught sight what the beautiful German girl held in her hands. It was a book. Worse, it was a book Makoto knew all too well. There was only **ONE** book in the world that had the image of a history book resting on a pentagram with a pair of spectacles as well as a star and a crescent moon hairclip resting on it. And beside the book was a sword, an ornate wand, a plumed Doric helm and a gun (8). Makoto could_ almost_ hear the uproarious laughter of the gods in his mind.

Clearing his throat and ensuring that his discomfort did not show on his face, "Oh, is that the _'Seduction of Kira Yamato'_? I heard from my classmates that it's a good book. Nanaya-san must have done an excellent job."

Sophia smiled, "He did. I skimmed through the book, and I can tell that it is a good book," and she stepped closer, bringing the fragrance of the sun to Makoto's nostrils, "But I'm more interested in seeing as to how you will finish your father's work…and begin your own. Because…" and her voice dropped to a whisper, "you have such promise, _Nanaya_-kun."

Makoto jumped back. How did she…? His head snapped up when he caught sight of movement, and saw Kasumi and Tokiya grinning at him from far. Those two…! The young man shook his fist at them, the meaning clear. Kasumi would pay dearly when kendo practice started on Wednesday. He would _**bash**_ his cousin into the nearest hospital! And Tokiya – dear, sweet Tokiya – will have the honor of having her younger sister dance a jig on her grave when the latter was through with her!

**(O)**

_**Tokyo, Japan, Shinjuku, Black Crane Bar, 1335 hours**_

Tokyo, the capital of Japan, was a sprawling metropolis that was home to over ten million souls. Here, Japanese salary-men and women rub shoulders with immigrants and tourists from around the globe. Here was where the past and the present walked hand-in-hand to the future. It was a city of many contradictions, where the past walked hand-in-hand with the present and where tradition was the companion of modernity. And it was from here, in Kasumigaseki, the governing of a country – as well as one of the greatest cities on Earth – was done. The woman that strode the halls of the Diet was a new face, but the fact that she had risen so quickly to where she was now – as the aide to the Internal Security Agency's newest Chief of Intelligence – had given rise to particularly unsavory rumors amongst its employees. Some said that it involved money, while others believed that black mail was involved. Most, however, believed that it involved a carnal transaction between the ISA's newest Chief of Intelligence and the beautiful, dark-haired siren that a good number of ISA's operatives were forced to acknowledge as their superior.

But, within weeks of the woman taking the office, the decision of the ISA's newest Chief of Intelligence, a certain Kurosawa Keiichi, to make the enigmatic woman introduced by one of his friends his aide proved to be a good one. It was because of her that the ISA managed to crush a cult who had been responsible for a wave of kidnappings and murders that have been escalating ever since the city was hit by a wave of earthquakes that many had started calling the 'Gates to the Underworld'. It was no secret in the ISA that Keiichi was in love with the beautiful and intelligent woman who waltzed into his life – nor was it a secret that the latter was clearly looking for someone.

But, whoever it was, it was clear that he (it could only be a man, the more intuitive members of the ISA thought) was very, _**very**_ good at hiding. More so than the terrorists or cult members could. Which was why the woman had come to the Black Crane Bar to meet with one of her contacts who could locate the individual she was looking for.

She held up her drink, studying her reflection in the amber liquid before catching sight of her contact making his way to her on its glassy reflection. She put down the glass and turned to face the man. Her contact was a member of a biker-gang, and who acted as a courier for the Coven. The young man bowed and traced a sinuous sigil in mid-air, one that marked him as a member of the Coven that did the woman's will.

"Do you have what I asked for?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Lil – I mean, Yuriko-sama," the man replied and produced a tightly-bound leather folder from under his jacket, "All the information you have asked for is in there. Kaguya-sama asks that you give her more time so as to gather any more information pertaining to the one you seek. She also bade me to tell you that the individual has been participating actively in the Wild Hunt."

"Oh…?" Yuriko raised an eyebrow, before cutting the straps of the folder with a finger-nail, "Do tell. Have any of the Coven's acolytes fallen to his blades?"

The courier hesitated, before replying, "Yes, Yuriko-sama. Three of our best Templars have perished by his hand."

The dark-haired woman paused, "Who were they?"

"Masaki Anya of the Third Circle, Setoguchi Miaka of the Fourth and her elder brother, Setoguchi Taka of the Second. They died in battle four months ago during when the Mage Prince of Beijing's Dragon Court initiated a purge to drive us out of the city. One of our lesser acolytes who managed to escape took the photo on the second page of the report. It took one of our other acolytes to improve its resolution."

The woman removed the report from its leather confines and flipped it to the second page. There, she saw the person she had been looking for. Young, in his early twenties, lean and well-built, with dark brown hair and eyes that blazed with unearthly energies, he was the image of a War God given flesh. He held a blazing spear (halberd?) in one hand and a custom-made gun (cannon?) in the other (9). He was surrounded by Servants, who launched bolts of ice, fire and lightning at their Master's unseen adversaries.

"What should we do about him, Yuriko-sama? What do you wish me to tell Kaguya-sama?"

Yuriko fixed her gaze on the courier, "Tell Kaguya that I want my enemies in the region dealt with. If they can be made to see reason and are willing to swear fealty to me and their new king, spare them. If not…" the woman's eyes turned to a fearsome shade of crimson, "destroy them."

The man smiled, relishing the coming conflict, before asking one last question, "And what of your…former husband's servants, Yuriko-sama?"

Yuriko gazed down at the picture of the man she longed to hold in her arms, before replying, "Execute those who will not kneel before me. And make it that it be a death everlasting."

The man bowed, before leaving. And when he did, Yuriko whispered the name of the individual she would defy God to be reunited with. Her heart shivered as memories as old as eternity flooded her veins and awakened a yearning that defied description, and she traced a finger over the jaw-line of her promised mate.

"I'm coming, beloved…"

_**To be continued…**_

**(O)**

**Author's Afterword:**

Okay, that took a long time to write, but quality work ALWAYS takes time. And considering this is the second time I'm writing Angel Halo, I intend to make it the last time. We have time, so let's talk a bit about what I've been doing – and reading – for the past few months. Like I said before, I suffered from a burn-out – and that gave me a headache the size of freaking Los Angeles because it put ALL of my work in the pit-stop – and those who follow my stories a severe case of _irae ignis_ (this is Latin – look it up; it'll be a good one to use in your stories, too…).

Kouryuo Saber must be sharpening his knives now, because I HAVE seriously not been doing the stuff he hired me to do – and that means, before I post the next chapter of Angel Halo, Edited, I'll have to send his story out by hook, crook and cranny. Better pack my AK-47, my pistols and my katana; it's gonna be a real brawl.

Lately, I've been reading the Scion books and am tempted to include them in Angel Halo, Edited. Don't worry – I am NOT going to throw a menagerie of gods and their half-mortal offspring into the mix. It will make my already-difficult life harder. Some of the monsters, however…may deserve a place in this story (especially since I am playing a very ancient game called Titan Quest). Shin Megami Tensei proved to be one heaven of a recruiting ground for me – and some of the female monsters therein can most certainly raise temperatures (if you can win them over to your side, that is…).

In the next chapter, I will introduce the following individuals: Cardinal Wesley and his Sentinels; the Battlemage Sheik Muhammad, also known as the Master of Legions; Yuriko's rival (haven't figured out a name for her yet…); the demon Chrono and Satella Harvenheit (yes, from the anime Chrono Crusade); the Nephilim Prince Arikiba, the son of Adam and the Fallen Angel Archduchess, Andariel (from Diablo 2) as well as Inquisitor-General Catherine Bauer (and her coterie). Also, we will look at the hierarchy of the Inquisition, its history and its notable figures (incl. Bauer and Wesley) as well as the Coven Yuriko had talked about at the end of this chapter. We will, of course, have to leave Japan behind for a little while – and take a look at the chaos that is slowly eating the world alive.

Of course, you, my readers, are welcome to throw in your ideas as to how to set the world on fire. War, escalating crime rates, epidemics, you name it and I'll bring it. I will, of course, give my thanks in the afterword of the next chapter, regardless of whether or not I use your ideas. Lastly, I need a beta reader who will make sure that the second edition of Angel Halo will not go the way of its first (in which I went way, _**WAY**_ off the road…).

_**Annotations:**_

Okay, okay, I watched the Black Lagoon anime and read the manga. Hotel Moscow is bad-ass, and the perfect place for the bastard king of Neon Genesis Evangelion, Ikari Gendo, to be. Especially in the context of THIS story! And no…I'm not going to tell you WHY he's here.

Putting the word postal in the place of ancestral is excessive. Asuka did not lose her mind. She lost her temper. There is a difference between starting a school massacre, and taking a sword to a legion of soldiers capable of fighting back.

Kamira Choon-Hae is the first pure-blood girl captured by the Servants of Darkness and forced to give birth to the first Dark Apostle.

S-LAN: School Local-Area Network. Access to Internet is available; just make sure the teacher doesn't catch you surfing porn sites or it's detention for you. (hehe…)

For those who missed it, something happened here. It involves a vampiric Discipline – and I challenge my readers to tell me what happened to Tomoe. Hint: the power comes from White Wolf's Vampire the Masquerade.

Okay, now I'm gonna' burn for even _**stating**_ this! Put the rifle down, Stephen. Your fans will do your work for you!

Okay, now I'm gonna die without the benefit of being burnt first. The Gundam SeeD shippers WILL crucify me…

For the curious, it involves the characters of Gundam SeeD…and one or two from Sexy Beach 3 (smiles playfully). Characters are in respective order: Reiko (from SB3), Meer and Lacus, Fllay, Murrue, Maria Andersen (from SB3, also…) and Natarle. I DARE any author to write this story. Come on…you know you want to… (smile becomes grin). Use White Wolf: Scion books for the base, and take it to where you will. Include stuff from Old World of Darkness (because the New World of Darkness leaves much to be desired in terms of storyline…).

For those who want me to be more specific, said individual is holding a bolter and a Nemesis Force Halberd; both are weapons from Warhammer 40K. Everyone who knows the genre KNOWS how bad those things can hurt.


End file.
